Hanafubuki
by Mir
Summary: Torn abruptly from the peacefulness of the dojo in early spring, one event leads to the next as Kenshin and the others are pulled into an increasingly turbulent series of chain reactions. Finally in revision after nearly 7 years of neglect.
1. Part 1: Cricket

Title: Hanafubuki  
_flowers falling in the wind like snowflakes_

Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin was created by Watsuki Nobuhiro,  
published by Shueisha in "Jump," and produced by Sony  
Entertainment. All rights are theirs. I have no money to speak  
of, so suing me will not make you rich. This story contains  
spoilers for...I'm not quite sure what...up until the Kyoto Arc  
and the OAV's, I think (plus corresponding manga volumes).

--

_Quiet summer days  
The entrance of a cricket  
Dinner debated_

--

Part 1

In the final throes of winter the last cold breeze swept soundlessly across the dusty streets, and the trees, their naked branches scraping impatiently against each other, stretched longingly toward the cloudless sky. And in the seamless transition of one season to the next, the soft caress of morning sunlight promised warmer days ahead.

The breeze tugged at the hem of my hakama as I submerged my arms to the elbow in lukewarm water turned gray with dirt from the day's laundry. The cloth was heavy and dense between my fingers -- at least there was a good wind for hanging the washing out to dry -- and my thoughts began to take flight as my hands swirled idly around the bottom of the tub.

I'd stayed at the dojo for longer than I'd anticipated, longer than I knew I should. But I though my mind whispered incessantly that it was time to move on I couldn't deny that I felt as though I belonged somewhere again. Somehow I'd regained that elusive feeling of purpose, a feeling so firmly imprinted in my mind that it couldn't simply be an illusion I'd imagined. After ten years of wandering, ten years of constantly changing scenery, ten years of futile searching for atonement, I longed for that certain intangible feeling of "coming home." Perhaps it was this sensation that held me back from the open road. Somehow the journey's calling simply wasn't as urgent as it had been before.

I sighed as I leaned forward against the washtub's wooden rim, half lost in thought and recollection – I jumped in surprise as small hands clamped themselves over eyes, and water sloshed onto my pants, my feet, the thawing ground. My first 'attacker' seemed not to notice. Predictably, a second set of hands caught my wrists and pulled my dripping palms from the water, cupping them until they closed firmly around... something.

"Surprise!" The energetic voices exclaimed simultaneously as Ayame and Suzume in a coordinated attack dragged me unprotesting to the ground. "Look, look what we caught, Ken-niisan!" I landed on one knee and teetered from side to side as two young girls proceeded to use me as their human climbing-tree.

"Well now, you two, what do we have here?" I separated my fingers slowly, drawing out the suspense, and when the girls realized that I was deliberately teasing them, they reached up impatiently and pried my hands apart, blunt nails digging into my skin. I surrendered without a fight.

:cheep: The cricket, small and brown, sat limply -- looking perfectly miserable (if it's possible for a cricket to look miserable), and I could almost imagine a tiny cricket-sigh emanating from its damp form. The poor insect hardly noticed that its prison walls had lifted.

"Is this for me?" I asked hesitantly, staring at my hands and not entirely sure of what I could say to rectify the egregious sufferings of the dripping insect. The two girls nodded vigorously in eager affirmation, and I continued to flounder for words. "Thank you, but..."

"But what?" Suzume tugged upon my left arm, using her weight to send me tipping in her direction, but just as I was about to lose my balance, Ayame tugged equally upon my right arm. It was like being tossed around by a storm at sea -- and the cricket looked as it were about to be sick.

"...he doesn't seem to be too happy, euh?" An awkward silence fell upon us, a silence not even punctuated by a single 'cheep', and I blinked several times, not wishing to offend either the girls or the cricket. "Do you think he'd enjoy living in the bushes by the gate? He might enjoy watching everyone's comings and goings..." I couldn't recall whether crickets were sociable insects or not.

Ayame and Suzume glanced at each other in rapid consultation then threw their arms up into the air with youthful enthusiasm. "Yay! Into the bush, into the bush!" Again, they clamped themselves onto my elbows, pulling me abruptly to my feet and...managing to send the washing tub crashing onto its side in the process. :cheep: The cricket, apparently reinvigorated by its flight through the air (for it had dropped from my hands as water drenched my feet), hopped from tabi to tabi across the expanding mud-puddle, eventually disappearing from view. Hands flew to the mouths of the two girls, and their eyes widened in realization of what they'd done. "Uh-oh."

Of course, it was just at this single moment of utmost confusion that another figure appeared at the scene. Shinai in one hand, wooden bucket in the other, she carried herself with a confidence typically uncharacteristic of a young unmarried woman, and as she swung the bucket freely at her side, she hummed softly under her breath. But as she came around the corner she stopped dead in her tracks, music dying on her lips. "Good grief, can't I even leave this place for a minute without everything falling apart?"

"I'm terribly sorry, Kaoru-dono," my voice called from the tangle of legs, arms, laundry, and small bodies. "There was this cricket, you see..." My head raised itself from the hopeless mess, red hair flying everywhere and gooey mud dripping from my nose. "...yes, a cricket, of course."

Kaoru, seemingly torn between laughing hysterically and protesting the state of the (once again dirty) laundry, tucked the shinai into her obi and lifted the lid on the bucket. "Look Kenshin, it's a fish! Ryuhei Yoshidaof the Makita Dojo gave this to me in return for helping his sempai practice today." She blushed slightly with pride, smiling warmly despite the chaos spread across the ground before her.

"Yeah, for once, even Tanuki no Onna didn't mess everything up." A boy, ten years in age, appeared out of nowhere, shinai strapped across his back and dark hakama slightly muddy from the trek home. "Even she has her good days every once in awhile," he admitted, voice all but dripping with sarcasm.

"Yahiko! Oh you little brat -- why do I even bother trying to beat manners into that thick head of yours?" Temporarily forgetting about my laundry debacle, Kaoru dropped the bucket to the ground and began to advance toward her deshi, shinai brandished menacingly in both hands before her. "Hey, where are you going? Come back here! Yahiko, I'm not finished with you yet!" But her threats were to the wind, as not even the boy's shadow had stuck around to listen.

"Oro..." Having disentangled myself from the girls and the laundry, I reached up to brush the dirt from my gi even as mud dripped sporadically from the ends of my ponytail. "Fish, you say? That's very generous of Yoshida-san." I nodded, picturing the aging master with his easy smile and gentle nature. We hadn't exchanged more than a dozen words when I'd met him before, but I could sense that he was a man of honesty and respect -- a good man to act as a mentor for Kaoru-dono.

"Yes..." Kaoru stared off into the general direction of Yahiko's escape route. "...and it's so pleasant to work with students who don't talk back to you every other second." Her gaze traveled over to where Ayame and Suzume were rolling about in the mud, then drifted to the heap of dirty laundry, and finally came to rest on my dripping form. "Busy afternoon?"

"It's nothing, no need to worry Kaoru-dono...your bath should be ready by now -- and I can see to the fish once I finish the laundry --" My voice trailed off as I met her gaze, and somewhere in the background a lone cricket chirped.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, and I could sense her mind working, could almost see her thoughts flowing from suspicion to decision. Bucket and shinai in one hand, she grabbed onto my arm with the other. "Come, you look like you need a bath more than I do," she replied, dragging me out of the mud and back toward the dojo.

"Oro? But...Kaoru-dono, please --" Caught off-guard by her sudden benevolence, I stared uncertainly at her, debating whether or not I should reach up and feel her forehead for fever. It wasn't like her to forego a hot bath after coming back from practice... But I didn't want to drip mud onto her nose, so I had to content myself with knitting my eyebrows together in worry.

"Listen, you can take a nice bath, and I'll cook dinner tonight! The laundry can wait until tomorrow." Kaoru, obviously pleased with her decision, dropped the fish on the porch with a thud and continued onward, muttering to herself about a certain fantastic recipe for fish (courtesy her grandfather) that she just had to try, and still dragging me in tow.

"Err, thank you -- but it's really unnecessary, Kaoru-dono. I'd rather finish the laundry tonight," I protested halfheartedly, trying to free myself from Kaoru's iron-grasp but without success. I had been witness to her stubbornness many times before (and had been on the receiving end more often than not), and I knew that once she made up her mind, arguing wasn't going to get me very far at all. Nonetheless, it behooved me to try.

The steam from the bath rose as if on tiny wings, swirling upward and disappearing into the open sky. Kaoru sighed and let her arms fall to her sides. "Kenshin, I'm doing you a favor -- just get in the bath will you?" For a moment I could see concern in the lines around her mouth, worry in the shading of her eyes -- then she grinned, and with a light chuckle, the previous seriousness dissolved into habitual teasing. "If you don't get in I'll have Yahiko and Sanosuke throw you in, clothes and all!" Ah well, she was only 17, after all.

"It's alright, truly it is. There's no need to call them...but are you certain about dinner...?" I was slowly backing into the steam, its delicate embrace brushing temptingly against my senses. I had become accustomed to the lumpy tofu and soggy vegetables, but I wasn't sure how my stomach would react to Kaoru-dono's attempts at cooking fish.

"Of course I'm certain," she replied cheerfully, head tilted slightly to the side while dimples formed at the corners of her mouth. "My grandfather may not have been a fantastic cook, but he could make the best fish in all of Tokyo." She brought her hands together underneath her chin and let her eyes close in contented remembrance. "Mumm...I can taste it now, absolutely wonderful --"

"-- as wonderful as your weird-shaped rice balls, Tanuki no Onna?" Yahiko called, poking his head around the corner. He always seemed to have impeccable timing when it came to making use of every opportunity to tease his Assistant Master. "If I were that fish I'd run away as fast as I could!"

"Yeah, Jou-chan, what are you thinking? It's fish...there's some real potential here. Can't your grandfather's recipe wait a few years?" The tall form of Sanosuke materialized behind Yahiko, and as he too joined the debate, I began to wonder if perhaps it would be best if I just took the poor fish and prepared dinner while the three of them raised their voices in debate. Meanwhile, the argument continued in the background.

" -- not true! Anyway, how would know what the Emperor eats?" Kaoru's voice drew me from my scheming, and I had to smile as I watched her stand her ground before Sanosuke, yelling as if her very life depended on it. "Anyway, why do you think that you're going to ea this fish? Shoo, go away you freeloader. Scat before I have to get the broom." I opened my mouth to protest (knowing how lethal she could be with her broom), but Yahiko stepped in before I could speak.

"Awe, not only is she ugly, but she's mean too. Ugly, ugly, mean old witch!" He jumped from foot to foot, barely pausing in his endless barrage of insults to breathe, and as I stood there, surrounded by the comforting familiarity of good-natured chaos, I smiled.

"Now, now Yahiko..." He turned his glare in my direction, as if to warn me not to get involved, but I blinked, pretending to ignore his seething hostility. "...Kaoru-dono's cooking has improved greatly, that is has. You should be grateful that you don't have to prepare dinner for yourself." I nodded, recalling all the meals I had cooked for myself and Hiko-sensei -- ah, well they do say that practice makes for perfect, don't they?

"Grateful, schmateful, I bet you anything that the only thing she can do is turn it into an old shriveled black twig!" Yahiko was holding his stomach and laughing, Sanosuke too for that matter -- and somehow I couldn't just stand by and allow them to gang up on Kaoru-dono's cooking. After all, I had been truthful when I'd said it had improved (somewhat).

"Oh, I'm certain that Kaoru-dono's fish will be more eatable than that," I protested, smiling in her direction. "She has an old recipe, ne?" Not that I had ever seen the recipe (or even heard of it before), but it was that certain look in her eyes that appeared whenever anyone criticized her, um, culinary expressiveness, that caught my sympathy.

"A recipe for disaster, more like it," Sanosuke retorted, still standing behind Yahiko (i.e. using him as a shield). His mouth opened in that characteristic smirk of his. "What do you think you doing, Kenshin? Trying to poison us?"

"I - no, of course not," I replied quickly, my gaze flickering between the three parties before me. Six expectant eyes drilled into mine, and I held my hands up in the air, at the same time stepping back toward the bath, as if the steam offered me a small amount of protection. "Everything will be fine, you'll see."

"Awe, I'd bet you anything that we'll be eating rice and tofu again tonight," Yahiko grumbled, kicking at the dirt with his sandal. I knew what was coming next, and tried to inch myself away from the combat zone.

"You little brat! How dare you insult me like that - you'll give me the respect your Assistant Master deserves! I'll, I'll... Sano, come back here! Why does everyone always run away from me?" The shinai was swinging wildly through the air, and as Kaoru threw herself at the other two, I once again found myself nodding in amusement. No, it certainly didn't pay to get on her bad side.

"Kenshin, are you just going to stand there looking dumb? Come on, help me nail these two freeloaders --" She twisted to glance back in my direction, not easing off on her attack, and I wondered where she got all her energy from. Hadn't she just come home from practice...?

"Oro? Kaoru-dono...I'm not certain if this is such a good idea--" Her violence had always struck me as being rather paradoxical; wasn't the Kamiya Kasshinryuu 'the sword that protects'? But at the same time, I couldn't say that I was a stranger to the scenario of the 'abused deshi'. Perhaps to become a Master one had to learn how to deal unmercilessly with stubborn-minded pupils...

"And why, may I ask, is that?" Her eyes narrowed, gaze becoming as cold as the crispest winter morning. Ah, her ki -- if only she'd been a young man before the Meiji Era, she might have been one of the best swordsmen of her time. Surely she possessed the focus and the determination.

"Er -- the fish, yes remember the fish? I have a bet with Yahiko, that I do," I replied quickly, groping for any excuse to end the skirmish. Usually the good-natured bedlam didn't both me, but somehow, today, I would welcome a little peace and quiet with open and eager arms.

"A bet, what bet?" She caught Yahiko by the front of his gi, pulling him toward her while he squirmed like a hooked fish. "Don't you know that gambling is illegal? I'll have no student of mine --"

"Nothing illegal, Kaoru-dono," I interrupted quickly before she could try to haul Yahiko into the air. "It's about the fish. If your ojiisan's recipe has survived the test of time then he'll clean the dojo for you, floor to ceiling."

"Survived the test of time...?" From his captured position Yahiko frowned in puzzlement, his hands freezing over Kaoru's wrists. "When did I say that I'd clean the dojo, Kenshin?"

"Yahiko, you idiot, what Kenshin means is that he has faith in my cooking! At least someone's a believer." The shinai fell crashing to the ground as she spun away from Yahiko and beamed at my with unguarded admiration. "You're so sweet to believe in me when all the world's turned its back --"

"-- and for good reason too, Jou-chan. Say, what does Yahiko get if Kenshin loses?" I'd forgotten Sanosuke was still hanging around, and as I pivoted to see him leaning casually against the wall, ever-present fishbone dangling from his mouth.

"Anything I want, of course!" Was the female reply. Jumping toward Kaoru, Yahiko grinned excitedly -- like a person so sure of victory that it was hardly worth going through the motions of competition. "I'll win, you'll see!"

"Oh really, you think so? Why, I'll show you..."

- - - - - - - - - -

And so another afternoon passed... and how could any afternoon be complete without the ringing of argumentative voices resounding from the dojo walls? Fortunately, the conflict had moved off to the kitchen, and as I settled up to my chin in steaming water, I could almost image that the air was calm and that the breeze swept gently by, stirring the tree branches in peaceful swaying rhythms -- almost. I closed my eyes, letting layer upon layer of inhibition fall away as dead skin does from the body of a snake, and I think I might have drifted off into slumber had not a familiar :cheep: disturbed me.

"Back again, are you?" The cricket seemed to nod in affirmation (or perhaps it was only my imagination). "You should stay out of trouble, that you should. You'd live a longer life..." Speaking of life, what was my life coming to? Sitting in a bath, holding a conversation with a cricket -- Tomoe, if you could see me now, what would you say? Would you find it amusing? They never gave us a chance together. We never had the time we deserved.

"Ooh, what did I say, what did I say? I knew it, I told you so!" The exclamation was loud enough to send my pensive mood crashing into premature oblivion, and when I realized what the result of Yahiko's boasting would be I couldn't help but groan. Oh Kaoru-dono, why couldn't it have worked...just this once?

end of part 1

- - - - - - - - - -

Note 1: Here's the first part of my first multi-part Rurouni Kenshin piece! Please tell me  
if you like it... the next part isn't going to be as humorous, I don't think. The plot  
for the story (as I foresee it) -is- rather serious in nature. I'm not certain how  
long it's all going to end up being, but I'm going to try to finish it before school  
begins again in the Fall (and if you've witnessed how sporadic my writing is, that's  
a fairly ambitious deadline).

Mir (05.28.2001)

Note 2: This is a really ancient story that, for some reason, I've decided to go back and  
edit and perhaps finally finish. Wow, I must be crazy. If you're reading this in 2008,  
keep in mind that it was originally written seven years ago. This first chapter is, for  
better or worse, quite different from most of the rest of the story -- which grows  
progressively darker chapter by chapter. Think of it, perhaps, as a the beginning of the  
anime series and the later chapters as more akin to the style of the OVA's. I actually  
like the later chapters better, but that's just me...

Mir (06.16.2008)

.


	2. Interlude: Kaoru

title: Hanafubuki | Interlude 1  
rating: pg-13  
author: Mir  
email: cathedraldragon@bigfoot.com  
website: http://tfmeijiera.tripod.com/  
  
disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin was created by Watsuki Nobuhiro,   
published by Shueisha in "Jump," and produced by Sony   
Entertainment. All rights are theirs. I have no money to speak   
of, so suing me will not make you rich. This story contains   
spoilers for...I'm not quite sure what...up until the Kyoto Arc   
and the OAV's, I think (plus corresponding manga volumes).  
Many thanks to maigo-chan for her manga translations.   
  
AN: Again, I'm in the process of going back and revising   
parts of this work that... are a little rough around the edges.   
Although there's nothing major here, I've changed some of   
the word choice, some syntax, etc. All in all, I think it reads   
reads more smoothly.  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
*Interlude: Kaoru*  
  
  
Sometimes I wonder why nothing ever works out as it should. No   
matter how hard I try, whenever I step back and look at myself, all I see   
is girl stumbling through life without clear purpose or direction. As I hold   
the image steady in my mind I pace slowly around the small form, nothing   
the way her hair falls down her back and frowning at the eager expression   
on her face. Can the owner of this naive smile really be myself?  
  
Father, I've tried my best to carry on the style in your name, the   
gods know I've tried my hardest. But it's difficult, so very difficult. After   
the students left, I fear I would have been lost had it not been for the   
appearance of Kenshin.   
  
Himura Kenshin -- I think you and he might have gotten along   
well together. You'd recognize him in an instant if you met him on the   
street. With hair as distinctive as the expansive crimson sunset and the   
deep scar on his cheek still unfaded years after the fact... I'd be   
surprised if anyone ever forgot his face. And in nature, he's so gentle   
and protective, always going out of his way so as not to worry me.   
Can you imagine that, father? Yet at the same time, when I think of   
the experiences he's been through, of all the blood that he's washed   
from his hands, and of the men whose lives he's taken... I can't help   
trying to imagine what he'd be like if he'd never joined the Ishin Shishi.   
How can I compare myself to him when I haven't witnessed the   
autrosities of war firsthand? He lives as atonement for his past actions,   
lives and makes the world a better place by his presence.  
  
Should I have given in and allowed him cook the fish? No, I   
needed to prove to myself that I could do something right, no matter   
how insignificany, that I wasn't a failure to our family name. I've been   
so alone since you left, so completely alone with no one to talk to. I   
used to lie awake at night and whisper my thoughts to the walls   
because there was no one else to hear them. I still do so from time   
to time, though mostly out of habit. But, if Yahiko ever heard me --   
he teases me without mercy, Father. Sometimes I wish I could beat   
some respect into the little brat, but I suppose he just wouldn't be the   
same Yahiko if he stopped calling me names.  
  
Do you believe that fate brings people together for a reason? I'd   
never thought I'd find such good friends, never imagined the ways they'd   
enter into my life. Kenshin never searches for trouble -- it follows him like   
a stubborn shadow that won't dissolve into darkness after the sun has set.   
But whatever he touches is forever changed by his gentle concern...   
myself included, I admit.  
  
Father, I want to love him, but I don't know what I have to offer.   
He carries with him an aura of unassuming confidence, and I'm afraid   
that he's going to leave again some day. He taught me how to wash   
the rice so that the rice-balls won't turn out lumpy.... Wasn't that sweet   
of him, Father? The way he looks at me sometimes, with those deeply   
violet unreadable eyes, makes me wonder what thoughts occupy his   
mind, but I've always been afraid to ask. How can I be afraid of   
someone so warm and thoughtful? I wonder if he only thinks of me as   
a child. No, he wouldn't, not Kenshin; he even treats Yahiko with   
respect. Still, I wonder what he's thinking.  
  
I had to throw the fish away, that beautiful gift from Haruna-san,   
and Yahiko laughed until I thought he was going to be sick. At least   
Sanosuke knew to stop before he started choking. Kenshin said nothing   
-- just nodded sympathetically and began preparing dinner as he always   
does. The way he calmly takes everything in stride can be so infuriating   
at times. He's said that he would risk his life for me again and again....   
Why won't he understand that my life would mean nothing if he were to   
die? I never would have guessed that such a generous person could be   
so stubbornly selfish. Kenshin, why...?  
  
And now, dear Vather, sometimes I feel as though I'm merely an   
observer of my own life, watching the days drift by like logs floating   
slowly down a river. This peacefulness that's fallen over my life must   
certainly be an illusion, for never before have I been, at the same time,   
so happy and yet so unsure of myself. One day I know I will wake up   
and the dream will be gone.   
  
  
*end of interlude*  
  
- - - - - - - - - -   
  
Now that that's over *ducks* I'll say that I have about 8kb's of chapter two   
written and plan on finishing it this week (I hope). Staring at my computer   
screen has been giving me headaches, so I might have to write it on paper   
and then type it out...arg. Anyhow, write me -- emails are good motivation!   
And I'll write back *g*.  
  
- Mir (06.03.01 ~ 02.13.02)  
. 


	3. Part 2: Disturbance

Title: Hanafubuki  
Part 2: Disturbance

AN: Here's the second part to the story -- about the rating,  
I know that there's been nothing pg-13 yet (heck, there's  
been nothing that I'd even rate pg yet), but I think I know  
where I'm heading, and I'm pretty sure that the final rating on  
the piece is going to be pg-13, so I've slapped the rating up  
for now...so that no one's unwittingly drawn into something  
they may not want to read.

--

_A morning visit  
The young must learn for themselves  
Rising storm draws near_

--

Part 2

"Hey slowpokes, are you coming already? We're going to be late!" Yahiko stood restlessly by the gate of the dojo, shifting from foot to foot with clear impatience. Spring had settled onto Tokyo with refreshing vitality, and the breeze that tousled his hair was pleasantly warm. It was two days past Kaoru's fish debacle, and though I suspected her pride still smarted underneath the blow, both she and Yahiko had been their normal effusive selves, and life had continued as always.

"Uh, Yahiko, aren't you forgetting something?" Kaoru-dono appeared from the interior, hands held behind her back, amused grin spreading across her face. Instead of her usual kimono she wore her beige and yellow practicing outfit, and she paused at the base of the step, eagerly awaiting her student's response.

"W-what?" Yahiko's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he glanced first to the left then to the right, trying to figure out what Kaoru was playing at -- then it hit him. "Grrr, give that here!" Discarding any lingering pretence of propriety, he pounced viciously upon his Assistant Kendo Master, wrestling the shinai forcefully from her hands.

"Anyhow, what's the rush? Yoshida-san isn't expecting us until midmorning..." She calmly disentangled herself from her pugnacious student, and as I came up besides her, I had to admit that her antics with Yahiko, at the very least, always made for fantastic entertainment.

"I, err --" Yahiko's cheeks reddened as he suddenly became preoccupied with strapping the shinai to his back. I always knew that something was up when he was at a loss for words. "We can't dishonor the name of the Kamiya Kasshinryuu by being late, can we?" He retorted at last.

"And since when did you suddenly start caring about the honor of the Kamiya Kasshinryuu?" Kaoru-dono would have thrown herself at Yahiko had I not placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder. She turned in surprise, quickly taking note of the sakabatou tucked into my obi. "Oh, Kenshin, you're coming too?"

"It's been awhile since I've seen Yoshida-san." I didn't tell her about the rumor I'd heard concerning the Makita Dojo and its star pupil, of course. No need to worry Kaoru-dono unnecessarily. "And perhaps he'll be kind enough join me for tea after practice. I have yet to thank him for the fish he gave us the other day." She nodded, seeming to accept my explanation without reservation.

"Well, are we going then?" At Yahiko's whining complaint, both Kaoru and I glanced at each other, smiling, and on that note we left the dojo, the sun glittering down warmly upon our backs and the scents of spring swirling upwards from the gently unfolding flowers.

- - - - - - - - - -

"No, Takeo, your strokes need to be smoother. You're thinking about the movement too hard; you have to feel it. Try again." Ruhei Yoshida, Master of the Makita Dojo, stood next to his youngest student, sun-tanned arms folded casually across his chest.

Though well into his fifth decade, Yoshida-san still carried himself with the easy grace of a master swordsman. The katana at his side had been replaced with a shinai two years past when the edict had outlawed the carrying of real swords, but it was common knowledge among his students that when their sensei practiced by himself, he did so with his beloved blade.

"He's doing quite well for such a young student." I murmured as I followed Kaoru through the entrance of the dojo. Yoshida-san's wife had informed us that her husband was already with the students and assured us that we were expected and would be well-received.

"What?" Kaoru glanced back over her shoulder, then turned to see the scene for herself. "Oh, yes, he's only been at the dojo for the past three months, and already he's made more progress than some of the students who have been practicing almost twice as long. He seems to have a natural talent for swordsmanship, and he's certainly eager to learn."

She paused mid-stride, as if suddenly remembering something, and I silently continued past her. Although I admired Kaoru-dono's strength and independence, others were not always as understanding, and it was never customary for a woman to walk in front of a man. "Please pardon me, Yoshida-san, for interrupting -- " I waited quietly until he finished his instructions to his student. " -- it has been a while since we last met."

"Why Himura-san, what a pleasant surprise it is to see you once again. You know that you are always welcome at the Makita Dojo. You need no invitation to knock upon our gates." His greetings were, as I had remembered, warmly honest, and I smiled as I nodded in acceptance.

"Kaoru-dono and Yahiko-kun have come today to assist you...I admit I've only come to watch -- but I have yet to express my gratitude for your gift to us the other day. Perhaps afterward, if you can spare a moment?" I hoped to speak with him on a certain matter, that of his senior student, Sumire Shimizu.

"Yes, of course, it will be my pleasure." Around us, the sounds of students practicing filled the air with a general clatter punctuated every now and then by a spoken command or grunt of exertion. "But don't just stand in the doorway. Please, come in, come in."

With my back against far wall I watched Kaoru and Yahiko demonstrate the effectiveness of the Kamiya Kasshinryuu against Yoshida-san's deshi. Even Yahiko seemed to be able to hold his own against students of greater experience. Though his technique wasn't as smooth as I was certain it would become as he matured, what he lacked in efficiency he made up for in enthusiasm.

"Awe, come on, I know you can do better than that!" He stood before a student nearly twice his size, breathing heavily, shinai held challengingly in the air before him. "I, Yahiko Myoujin of the Kamiya Kasshinryuu will --" But his speech wilted under the disapproving glare of his Assistant Master, and even from across the room I could see her mouth the words, 'oh no, don't you dare'. Many swordsmen have complained that kenjutsu will be lost in this new Meiji Era, but as long as the next generation trained with such eager enthusiasm, I had no fear that the art would die.

Eventually, I found my thoughts drifting from the strokes and thrusts of Yoshida-san's students to those of the members of the Kiheitai, those many years ago. Not much older than Yahiko, I had thought that I was ready to leave Hiko-sensei and rejoin the world with a sword at my side and a head full of idealistic goals. I, the self-proclaimed protector of humanity, descended upon the Bakumatsu no Douran without knowledge of what I was running toward. And as much as I thought I understood the situation, I held a child's view of the world I fell into -- but once I had begun there was no turning back.

One sword alone did not bring about the fall of the Tokugawa Dynasty, and one sword would not be enough to ensure the lasting peace of the Restoration, but my sakabatou could protect those around me, and I would work my hardest to prevent the spilling of innocent blood for as long as I was able...

"Oh yeah, just who do you think you are? Why, coming in and thinking you could go ahead and do whatever you felt like! I'll have you know that I, Sumire Shimizu, won't let you get away with such disrespect within the walls of the Makita Dojo!" Startled by the sudden outburst, I turned toward the noise...and frowned when I saw the scene that was rapidly unfolding before me.

Sumire Shimizu, a tall dark-haired boy of about sixteen years, was Yoshida-san's most senior student -- a star pupil of substantial natural talent who also possessed a loyal dedication to mastering the art of kenjutsu (or so I'd heard). Unfortunately, rumors had also circulated that he was all too aware of his personal standing and was prone to excessive boasting and strutting both in the dojo and on the street. As he was quick to remind others of his 'many' achievements, he was also apt to be heavy-handed in knocking them down to where he thought they should be if they dared to stand in his way. He showed no mercy but looked none in return either.

"...ah, but what else could I expect from a bratty little kid whose sensei is nothing but an ugly girl?" Sumire laughed haughtily as he reached for his bokken. "I bet you couldn't even hit me if I stood here with my eyes closed." By this time, a thick silence had fallen upon the entire dojo, and everyone, from lowest student to eldest teacher, seemed to hold their breath in anticipation of Yahiko's reply.

"And just what makes you so sure of yourself, euh? I'm no pushover, I'll have you know. You'll be sorry you ever insulted Yahiko Myoujin and the Kamiya Kasshinryuu!" He stood his ground firmly before the older student, chin held high in the air, but I could tell how nervous he was by the whiteness of his knuckles as he gripped his shinai and the slight trembling of his shoulders. He didn't turn his head, but his eyes drifted in my direction, and I nodded in silent encouragement and reassurance. This was his conflict, and I would not interfere.

Yoshida-san, as well, stood by without a word, seemly prepared to watch the two students resolve the confrontation themselves. Yes, there was a time when students were no longer merely baka-deshi but were young men who had to learn their own lessons standing alone. That was the way the world worked -- it always had, and it always will.

After only a moment of hesitation, it was Sumire who attacked first, and as he brought his bokken down in a strong diagonal stroke, I could see why the merchants had begun to gossip about his ability. He didn't move with the sloppy inexactness I'd seen many students fall into since the dawning of the Meiji Restoration. No, it was almost as if he'd held a real sword against another man and had learned the precision necessary for defending one's own life in such a situation.

Yahiko, unused to blocking against such speed, only barely managed to raise his shinai in defense. His feet began slid backward across the wooden floor as he strained against the other's attack, and I could see damp beads of sweat begin to run down the sides of his face.

"You really are just a little kid, aren't you?" Sumire taunted as he towered over Yahiko. With the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile, he suddenly slid his bokken up the length of the shinai and swung it toward Yahiko's head. I watched, easily anticipating the move, and hoped the Yahiko had as well.

I needn't have worried. Ducking underneath the oncoming blow, he thrust forward at the same moment, connecting with Sumire's ribs, then retreating safely out of range. "A little kid, huh? Do you still think I can't hit you? I got you, Sumire Shimizu, got you fair and square!" It was his turn to laugh, and as he held his shinai out before him I found myself smiling as well. Yes indeed, no need to worry.

"Why -- I'll show you, you brat. Dogs have good manners when people carry sticks, and little children are no different." Having realized that he wouldn't be able to take care of Yahiko without breaking a sweat, Sumire glared at his adversary, clearly forgetting about the rest of us standing frozen against the dojo walls. Then abruptly, his manner shifted, and at the flaring of his ki, my left hand instinctively closed around my sword.

"Shimizu-kun..." The tense warning from across the room meant that Yoshida-san too had felt the change, but he had no weapon on him, and the student gave no indication that he'd heard his sensei. He held the bokken horizontally in front of his chest, hands gripping it tightly about a shoulders-width apart. He closed his eyes briefly, ponytail trembling ever so slightly as he clenched his teeth together -- then in one quick movement he pulled his right arm to the side, and a bamboo sheath fell crashing to the floor.

He advanced swiftly toward Yahiko, any remnants of hesitation flung ruthlessly aside, live blade glittering in the warm midday sunlight. His swing was less controlled than his first had been, and Yahiko, despite the suddenness of the attack, was easily able to block -- but the room seemed to gasp in unison as the top half of his shinai flew across the far wall and rolled to a stop at Kaoru-dono's feet. "Kenshin!"

By the time I heard her cry, I was already on the move, and when Sumire's next stroke slashed through the air, it was my sakabatou, not Yahiko's head, that stopped it. "That's quite enough, Shimizu-kun." We remained staring at each other for a moment, but it was he that looked away first. And as Kaoru-dono dashed forward to make sure her student hadn't come to any harm, Yoshida-san, too, separated himself form the rest of the observers and laid a hand firmly upon Sumire's shoulder.

"It would be best if you left now." He pried the sword from his student's sweaty fingers. "Go home today and tell your father what you have done. Then come again tomorrow and we will talk." Sumire neither blinked nor flinched as his sensei spoke, but as silence once again filled the air, he sketched a hurried bow, then fled from the room.

"You're going to let him come back here and continue training tomorrow?" Yahiko exclaimed in loud disbelief. "What are you, nuts or something?" He would have continued, had not Kaoru-dono placed a hand firmly over his mouth, and with the two of them at each other's throats (as usual), I knew that despite the shock both, would be fine.

- - - - - - - - - -

I watched silently as Yoshida-san prepared the green tea with the graceful motions prescribed by centuries of tradition. The tea ceremony, a ritual way of preparing and drinking tea, was guided by four principles: wa (harmony), kei (respect), sei (purity), and juaku (tranquility). Within the measured movements and responses one was supposed to find inner harmony and thus become closer to enlightenment.

The ceramic bowl was smooth and brown beneath my fingers, and in the quiet peacefulness of spring I let the hot liquid slide down the back of my throat and bathe my stomach in glowing warmth. I had first been introduced to the tea ceremony by Katsura Kogoro. In many ways, he had shown me another world I had only glimpsed before, one of high-class Kyoto refinement and elegance, of intellectual and rational minds. Ironically, as I perfected the art of taking life, I also learned how to live it.

"Yoshida-san, I must apologize for intervening in the affairs of your dojo this morning," I confessed quietly when customs permitted me to speak of such matters. Kaoru and Yahiko had returned to the Kamiya Dojo, having received my reassurance that I would follow them well before the sun set.

My host sighed wearily. "The fault is mine, Himura-san. I fear I have allowed him too much leeway in his training. His technique is excellent, but he is too headstrong for his own good. I should have anticipated his temper." It seemed as though Ryuhei Yoshida had aged visibly since I'd last seen him. His eyes, though still bright, were rimmed with dark smudges, and he cheeks seemed gaunt and pale despite afternoon heat.

"You may have heard of his father," he continued after a pause. "In this era he goes by Shuen Shimizu, but in the last he was known as Jiro Otsuka --" He needn't have continued, as I could have finished the sentence for him. "-- and rumor has it that he was a member of the Shinsengumi."

end of part 2

- - - - - - - - - -

Note 1: That's all for now! What do you think? Please send email -- I promise I don't bite,  
and I'd really love to hear from you. All you writers know that it's great incentive to  
get the next part out... It's so hard when I know where I want the story to go (oh,  
I wish I could just skip ahead and write the ending g). Oh, and I just realized that  
Sumire" means "violet"...not really what I had anticipated, but in a way, the name  
fits him you'll see later . As for the storm, yes it's brewing and you'll have to wait for  
the next part to see what form it will take!

- Mir (06.08.2001)

Note 2: I'm continuing on my revision spree here (yes, seven years later). I'm also  
reversing the names of the characters (from surname first, to given name first). I'm  
not sure why I decided to do it Japanese-style when I wrote the story... but I think  
the old saying holds true -- the more Japanese you learn, the less you use in your  
writing... Note that until I get around to the later parts, the name order won't match.  
The names I changed are as follow (given name, surname):

-- Ruhei Yoshida  
-- Sumire Shimizu  
-- Shuen Shimizu  
-- Jiro Otsuka

- Mir (06.16.2008)  
.


	4. Part 3: Shinsengumi

Title: Hanafubuki  
Part 3: Shinsengumi

AN: If you've read ahead and are wondering: What happened  
to the first person? What happened to Kenshin? let me  
explain that this part of the story is important for the plot, and  
the best way (i.e. least boring) I could think of writing it was  
as a series of flashbacks. They're not Kenshin's flashbacks, so  
I couldn't very well write them from his point of view, you see?  
Therefore, there is method to my madness. You'll find a return  
to normality in the next chapter .

--  
_Memories descend  
The past becomes the future  
Without direction_  
--

Part 3

"Are you certain?" The man calmly lifted the sake to his lips, and kneeling across from him, the boy nodded. After a moment's silence, he replaced the dish to the tray before him, his eyes staring intently off at some indistinguishable point in the distance. "Well then, Himura Battousai, I'd heard you'd finally arrived in Tokyo, but I'd never would have believed it to be true. Even after all these years, I haven't forgotten you -- nor shall I until the day I die." The dark-haired boy regarded the floor blandly and did not reply.

"Sumire, you may do your chores now." A gently rustle of fabric, the soft sliding of a door, and then the man sat alone.

When he was positive that he boy had left, he carefully reached into his gi and extracted a woman's hairpin. Constructed of finely beaten gold, it held the delicate form of a flower half-opened and blushing in the newfound sunlight. Rough fingers traced the flowing curves worn smooth by years of such handling, and the man's eyes fell closed as his mind flew backward to days long past.

- - - - - - - - - -

"Otsuka-san, congratulations! I just heard the news this morning." The man had tensed at the sound of his name, his left hand falling instinctively to the hilt of his sword, but he turned with an indulgent smile when he recognized the speaker. The enveloping silken darkness of night caressed the sleeping city of Kyoto, and the two men in blue and white haori were the only figures strolling along the deserted streets.

"Thank you," Jiro Otsuka replied tersely before relapsing into his characteristic reticence. He continued walking as his younger companion fell into step beside him, and the two continued along increasingly darker and narrower streets with only the moon's pale light to guide them.

"Indeed, the gods have blessed you with good fortune to find a wife so beautiful and understanding in such turbulent days as these," the second speaker commented with a hint of awe, his voice a little too loud, almost grating on the ears. He up looked at the man beside him with deference, paying only minimal attention to the surrounding environment, and the awkwardness of his movements suggested that he wasn't yet accustomed to living in the shadows.

Jiro sighed, frowning. "Mizuki is naive to the horrors of the day. Perhaps I am wrong to draw her into the violence. I fear that she will be battered like a chrysanthemum in a storm." He looked neither to the left nor to the right as he walked, his eyes focused only on the empty road before him.

"Everyone becomes involved sooner or later. Even women nowadays can't keep their hands completely clean." The younger man unconsciously rubbed his palms down the side of his hakama in a accompanying his words. "I say, if you can find pleasure, Otsuka-san, it's yours for the taking, and you should enjoy it while it lasts. There's no telling when you'll be able to again."

"To speak with such confidence, you must truly be a man who lives for the moment." Jiro ducked into the shelter of a doorway, blending seamlessly into the architecture as if he were nothing more than the wood's shadow.

"I just don't believe in wasting good opportunities. You'll never know when you'll have the honor of dying." The last was spoken with a tinge of irreverent sarcasm, and the young swordsman drifted toward the doorway as if to follow the other's lead.

Jiro, face expressionless, stepped from the doorway back into the street. "Wait for me here. I will be with the others when I return."

"But Otsuka-san, you said --" The younger man's voice rose in pitch as he protested, cracking, and the speaker (little older than a boy) fell silent in embarrassment.

"I said nothing of the sort. You will stay here and wait for my return." The young man ground his teeth in frustration as Jiro Otsuka slipped away into the night with barely a sound. He had not seen the direction of his mentor's flight and could not follow.

- - - - - - - - - -

"Shimizu-san, your dinner." An elderly woman with hair as white as pristine morning snow knelt besides the man and placed a warm tray of food before him. Shuen glanced up in surprise, his large hand closing tightly around the hairpin, hiding it from view.

"Damn it woman, you should knock before you enter!" he exclaimed, temper suddenly flaring. Lost in his memories, he hadn't noticed that the sun had sunk below the horizon leaving him sitting in the cool purple darkness of twilight.

"My deepest apologies." She bowed deeply once more, then quickly rose to her feet and left. Again, the room was silent.

- - - - - - - - - -

"You're late, Otsuka." The speaker's tone was edged with barely-contained impatience and laced with biting reproach. "We almost left without you this time. Save apologies for later. There's no time for them now -- Let's go." His eyes accustomed to the darkness, Jiro squinted against the brightness of the lantern held up to his face by the speaker.

There were six men total, all clad in identical blue and white haori, and they flew though the empty streets as one, leaving only a vanishing cloud of dust as evidence of their presence. The leader stopped before the marked building, extinguished the lantern, and handed it off to his assistant behind him. As he closed his eyes, the wind blew though his hair in eager empathy, and when he resolutely faced his men, each knew the words that hovered on his lips. "Aku. Soku. Zan." It was their motto, and they lived every day by its elegant simplicity. Slay evil instantly.

The targets were two Choushuu loyalists rumored to be supporting the Ishin Shishi -- Imperialists fighting against the Shogunate for a return of imperial power. The guards at the door presented no problem at all. They were young, inexperienced Imperialist scum, and they hadn't had time to scream. Their blood sprayed across the entrance walls and ran down into puddles that spilled onto the empty street. But where were the targets? Where had the rats hidden themselves?

"You will go no further." The intruders froze, every set eyes sweeping the shadows for the speaker. "The Shinsengumi will not disrupt tonight's work. Lay down your arms." He stepped confidently through the open doorway, fierce amber eyes two glowing points of light in a sea of darkness.

"Battousai, so we meet again," the leader of the group muttered in greeting, drawing his sword with accustomed grace. "You seem to be everywhere in Kyoto these days." The hitokiri gave no reply, but as he charged forward, his sword leapt from his sheath, a slashing blur of silver. The leader dodged to the right at the last moment, leaving only a few sliced hairs lingering in the air behind him.

The other Shinsengumi, having recovered from the surprise at meeting the lethal shadow of the Ishin Shishi, at once reached for their weapons, eager to rush forward to their leader's aid. The assassin, noting the movement, didn't break off his attack. A quick diagonal slash slit the leader from shoulder to hip, and before the body even hit the ground he turned to face the approaching onslaught.

As the first man's hand gripped his sword, the hitokiri's blade cut through his throat, and his blood sprayed upwards like an arching fountain, only to rain down upon his comrades, drenching them in warm dampness. The second man managed to bring his sword up to block -- but it did him no good, for as half of it flew through the air and embedded itself in the wall, his head plummeted like a stone rolled lazily across a floor already slick with blood.

Jiro sank into the shadows, torn between honor and self-preservation. 'I have a wife waiting in bed for me -- a wife and a life ahead of me. It can't all end here tonight...' Uncertain of whether he had been spotted, he slid backward against the wall, trying to ignore the damp trails running down his face. The harsh metallic smell overwhelmed his senses, and even as he inched toward escape, he knew in his heart that the hitokiri was too observant to have overlooked his presence.

"Battousai." He was groping with one hand for the doorway when the voice startled him. Jiro froze, recognizing the speaker, then found a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Yes, he would make his escape while Battousai was distracted.

As Hajime Saitou, captain of the third Shinsengumi unit, appeared from an entrance to his right, the hitokiri lifted haunted eyes from the sea of bodies sprawled at his feet. "You have been busy with my men, I see, but this is the end. You will die by my sword tonight."

Even as Saitou leaned back in his powerful Gatotsu stance, Jiro Otsuka backed silently out of the doorway and fled into the night. His disappearance had not gone unnoticed.

- - - - - - - - - -

A light tapping on the door frame jerked Shuen abruptly from his memories, and he dropped the golden pin into his lap, hiding it in the folds of his hakama. Damn that woman, what did she want now? "Shimizu-san, have you finished your dinner?" The tray sat before him, untouched. The food had long since gone cold.

"Come take it away, but don't disturb me again tonight." He waited impatiently as the woman entered and left, his face a pale emotionless mask. Her movements seemed inordinately slow and her footsteps fell heavily upon the tatami floor. He exhaled in relief as the door once again slid shut. The night was far from over and the story only half-completed.

- - - - - - - - - -

Run. Footsteps pounded steadily behind him -- he should have known they would follow. Run. There was nowhere to hide, no rest for gasping lungs or racing heart. He twisted through the deserted streets of Kyoto not caring where his feet took him. Buildings flew by, indistinct flashes in his peripheral vision as the ignorant moon followed its nightly path across the heavens. Still, the icy hand of fear gripped his throat and spurred him onward.

"...it is not allowed to deviate from the proper path of man..." The words so often repeated in his presence rang through his mind, reverberating from every corner. "...no one is ever allowed to leave the..." It was Shinsengumi Law, and there was only one punishment reserved for offenders: seppuku ritual suicide. He had given up everything to join the fights against the rebels. Now he would do the say to escape the certainty of his demise. Run.

As the pink-tinted rays of morning crept above the horizon, the streets at last fell quiet beneath his sandals. The pounding echoes of determined pursuit seemed to dissipate like a fragmented nightmare does at the advent of morning, but his sweat-soaked jacket and aching lungs were evidence that he hadn't been dreaming. There was no time to think and only one path his feet could follow. Find Mizuki and leave -- that was all that mattered.

The journey had been long and onerous, made even more so by the early onset of winter. Together they had traveled from village to village, their only goal being to put distance between themselves and Kyoto. And finally, when they could go no further they collapsed exhausted onto a small slice of land in the middle of nowhere and began to gather wood enough to last frigid nights. Mizuki was heavy with child, and they had run out of time.

The tiny dilapidated farmhouse had been abandoned for several years, but although the diakon radishes and hakusai chinese cabbage had long since gone wild and rotted in the fields, Jiro still managed to salvage enough to last a week at least. Yes, they had escaped! A sense of profound relief washed over him again and again -- reducing other problems of survival to nagging details, which he ignored.

Underneath the thatched roof Mizuki rested on a heap of tattered blankets. She shifted restlessly from side to side, unable to get comfortable underneath the weight of the new life inside of her. By the power of its kicks she knew that it had to be a boy; no girl could possibly have such strength before birth.

Jiro added another log to the crackling fire. The rotting walls of the farmhouse swayed back and forth in the rising wind, and he knew that when the snow began to fall most of it would surely find its way indoors. There was no way to avoid discomfort. Still… these were all minor details. "We are safe, safe." He repeated the words over and over in his mind. It was a chant to shield against the onset of insanity and despair.

The days passed, as they inevitably do, each sunrise limping onward to following sunset. Weeks faded gradually into months, and with every breath he took, the horrors of Kyoto sank further away in his mind, closer to the edge obscurity. Why had he been so terrified? Everything was calm and peaceful, quiet and serene. Nonetheless, he jumped at the soft scurrying of a mouse behind him; old habits are always slow to die.

- - - - - - - - - -

When he opened his eyes, the room was bathed in silver overtones, spidery fingers of moonlight that streamed down from the sky to grasp the Earth and bind her until the sun once again claimed the sky. Just as he gripped the treasured hairpin, the shadows of the past locked their hands around his body and held him captive. Like the cycles of the moon, history had to run its course, and not by all the praying in the world could he alter the past.

- - - - - - - - - -

"Will you watch Sumire for a moment? I must have left my purse at the house." Mizuki held the small hand of her bright-eyed toddler out to her husband, cheeks flushing slightly in embarrassment. "I'll only be a moment." Jiro nodded without comment.

The first summer away from Kyoto had been, at the same time, both wonderful and lonely. The air seemed to be clearer, the night sky more expansive, and the flowers more radiant in their ephemeral glory. But although the noisy conversations of the cicadas filled the twilight hours with random noise, the native inhabitants of the countryside made poor company day in and day out.

If the first summer was metaphoric of the calm within the eye of a storm, the second seemed to dwell far outside the radius of the swirling winds. Although he still carried his swords at his side, Jiro found that he no longer jumped at the swaying shadows, no longer glanced over his shoulder every few paces, no longer feared daily for his life. He no longer pounced upon every traveler, hoping for news from Kyoto, and he no longer practiced kenjutsu in the empty fields at night with only the indifferent cicadas for an audience.

"Papa?" The boy tugged cautiously upon his father's hakama, small hands dusty from digging in the dirt road. "When will Mama be back?" He stood, barely reaching up to his father's knee, with one hand in his mouth and tousled black hair sticking up on the back of his head.

"Soon. Be patient," Jiro replied, not paying close attention. Something in the air, some elusive flicker clinging to the swirling wind, brushed faintly upon his senses and tickled his body. He suppressed a shudder as the tingling danced up and down his spine.

Smoke. It began as a thin line climbing leisurely toward the heavens, but (in what seemed to be only a moment) even the clouds were tainted by dark ashes and licking flames. Fire. He shoved the boy roughly into the bushes, warning him not to move if he wanted to stay alive. Blood sang in his ears as he sprinted up the road toward the farmhouse. Muscles unused to such activity cramped, and his chest ached with the effort of breathing. Still, he pushed onward with only one thought on his mind -- Mizuki.

He was too late to catch them. By the time the engulfing flames filled his vision, they had already left, and there was no need for the naked blade in his hand. He collapsed to his knees, weak and dizzy from exertion and emotion. Even with his eyes closed he could feel the heat of the fire on his face, hear the crashing of the burnt walls as they fell onto the smoldering grass. And he shed warm tears with his forehead pressed into the dirt as his arms fell limply to his sides.

It was the bright glint of reflected sunlight that eventually caught his attention. A few paces off, a small object nestled into the grass took in the fading daylight and spun it back out toward the world with golden brilliance. He reached for it and clutched it to his breast, dirt and tears merging upon his cheeks. Underneath Mizuki's golden hairpin, a roughly scribbled note fluttered gently in the breeze.

_"She was loyal to you until the end. You should be pleased, as loyalty has become such a rare commodity. You may have escaped me twice, Jiro Otsuka, but you will not be as fortunate in the future"_

The note was unsigned, but there was no mistaking its origin. Although the voice of Hajime Saitou resounded in his ears, it was the grim features of the Hitokiri Battousai that filled his vision. This, everything, it was his fault and his fault alone! Had it not been for the one night in Kyoto, Mizuki would still be by his side. Had it not been for that one fateful night, everything would be different; everything would be as it should be.

Oh yes, Jiro Otsuka would live. Even with a young child underfoot there were places he could disappear to. He would live, if only to enact his revenge. Those who had caused his misery would pay dearly for their crimes against his spirit. Although the mind and body might one day have forgiven, it is in the spirit that anger achieves immortality.

end of part 3

- - - - - - - - - -

Note 1: Ah, another part finished... I'm not certain how long this  
story is going to be when I'm finished with it. It's supposed to be  
a response to the K&K mailing list challenge asking writers to write  
a story in which Kenshin breaks his vow never to kill ack, did  
I just ruin the whole plot? I think not. Ah, so there's your teaser...  
and on that note, I think I'll take my leave Patience is a virtue!

- Mir (06.17.2001)

Note 2: Here's the revised version of this chapter. Mostly I've  
just gone through and smoothed out some rough spots as well  
as corrected the typos.

- Mir (02.28.2002)

Note 3: Ah, so I was wondering why this chapter was looking  
particularly good--it seems I already revised it in circa 2002. It's  
actually quite fun to go back and revisit this story. I've forgotten  
how much I like some of the scenes... almost like reading something  
written by someone else!

- Mir (06.16.2008)  
.


	5. Part 4: Into Darkness

Title: Hanafubuki  
Part 4: Into Darkness

AN: Many thanks to everyone who's written to me about  
this story! I know it's taken me longer to get this part out...  
but I've started a summer internship, you see, and so I've  
had less time to write than I thought I would. Never fear,  
though -- I'm really getting into this now, so I promise I'll  
complete it eventually. I'm going to be on vacation w/out  
email from the end of July to the beginning of August, but  
maybe I'll get another part of before I leave? If not, they'll  
probably be at least one chapter to upload when I get  
back! Hope everyone's having a fantastic summer (I know  
I am) .

--  
_Dark eyes that follow  
Company under the stars  
Currents in motion_  
--

Part 4

I crouched in the garden, sleeves tied out of way but hair falling stubbornly into my eyes. My arms were coated with moist soil up to the elbows, and I could feel the dirt clinging to my forehead from where I'd brushed the hair away from my. The delicate seedlings emerged as tiny green lines across the soft ground, and as I let a handful of soil cascade downward from cupped hands, the scent of the earth enveloped my senses, carrying me back to the summer of 1864.

Tomoe and I had worked side by side, sharing the labor in quiet company. Under different circumstances perhaps we might have... No, it was better that I left the past behind me, for as long as it still lived (if only in my mind), Kaoru-dono was in danger. I squeezed my hands into fists, compacting the dirt into hard clumps that fell to the ground and shattered into broken fragments.

"Kenshin?" I glanced up from the garden, letting my features fall into a gentle smile as I met her eyes. "Do you think you could run into town and buy some tofu for dinner?" She held the small wooden bucket by her side.

"Oh, of course, Kaoru-dono." I pressed to my feet, hand reaching for the sakabatou. "Our garden's growing well. In a few weeks perhaps the--" I froze, heart suddenly racing. Where was it?

"What's the matter, Kenshin? What's wrong?" She must have seen the concern flicker across my face, for she was instantly at my side, eyebrows pulled together in worry.

"The sakabatou..."

"...is inside the dojo where you left it." She smiled hesitantly, then reached up and smacked me across the head for good measure. "Kenshin, you really had me worried there for a moment." Although she tried her best to cover it with the well-timed (and well-aimed) blow, I would have had to have been a fool not to notice the concern in her eyes and her voice. But was it more than that? I was afraid that this young woman, who had so much to offer a man and so much to offer the world, was somehow, for some reason falling for me -- and I was even more afraid that the feeling was reciprocal.

- - - - - - - - - -

I wandered down the busy street, bucket in one hand and the comfortable weight of the sakabatou at my side. People drifted past to the left and right, some chatting amiably with friends, others hurrying onward to pressing engagements. I knew the route well and relied more on my sense of others' presences than my eyesight for direction.

Somehow, even days later, I couldn't seem to shake Yoshida-san's words from my thoughts. The name "Jiro Otsuka" elicited the image of a silent man, thin as a water reed, with straight hair like the dark of midnight and eyes like two candles flickering tenaciously in the breeze. I'd only seen him once.

His woman must have had light hair, for Sumire's, though dark as his fathers', was delicately streaked with auburn highlights -- and I could only hope that his character, as well, was thus painted by the lightness of compassion. He appeared to be a troubled young man, struggling recklessly as if caught in situation he had no control over. I suspected that his father had, more than once, supplemented Yoshida-san's instruction with his own. Caught between the two figures of authority, the boy was most likely receiving conflicting messages… yes, a difficult position to be wedged into.

At first, I failed to notice the feeling as my thoughts were meandering far from the dusty road beneath my feet, but what began as a light tingling sensation brushing against my mind steadily intensified as I walked and at last demanded my full attention. It was that lingering sense of premonition that I had tried my hardest to forget when I left Kyoto, that intuitive sensation that caught my body in involuntary tremors and brought all my senses crashing roughly into full awareness.

But I didn't want to call attention to myself, so I continued walking as if I felt nothing, continued forward as if my mind wasn't frantically ordering me to draw my sword and thrust blindly into the surrounding crowd. I had vowed to stop living by instinct eleven years ago.

And as I willed my body to stop reacting, I concentrated on isolating the source of my unease -- it was behind me, no more than twenty or thirty meters...and slightly to the left, easily threading its way through the pedestrians and maintaining the distance between us but making no move to close it. The presence was calm, surprisingly so, and I cursed lightly under my breath when I realized that I must have truly let my guard down to have picked up such a skilled a pursuer.

Once you realize that you're being followed, you don't have to try hard to imagine the staring eyes drilling into your back, tracking your every move, and gouging holes in your mind. I had always faced my adversaries head on. I had never run. I had never had to. Back then, only Tomoe had stopped my hand. Briefly she had been my sheath, but now I had to be my own.

I couldn't stand the feeling any longer, couldn't continue walking without knowing who was lurking in the shadows behind me. With ruthless suddenness, flung restraint and inhibition aside and pivoted sharply, sloshing water from the bucket and drenching the pedestrians beside me. My eyes frantically searched the heads of the crowd, and for once I wished I were taller.

At first I thought that I'd lost him -- then, there! A blur of dark hair bobbed once, spun a quick half-circle, and disappeared from sight. It only took my mind a second to conjure the rest of the angular profile. _Jiro Otsuka_, Shuen Shimizu... no matter what name he chose to go by, I had felt his presence once before, and I could not have forgotten him, not a man as driven as he.

- - - - - - - - - -

Kaoru must have noticed my distraction when I returned, but, as usual, she said nothing. I could have told her, could have explained everything -- but I didn't want to worry her. She had worries enough already. Perhaps if only I had taken the time to talk with her that night instead of going and... Ah, but I get ahead of myself.

"Kenshin, you aren't planning on sitting by yourself out here all night, are you?" She stood in the doorway, and I turned to regard her fondly, grateful that she'd broken the silence between us. Her silhouette was backlit by the light from the dojo, and she tilted her head slightly to the side, hands resting against her hips accusingly.

"The weather's so pleasant, I think I'll enjoy it for a little longer." Indeed, it was the epitome of all spring evenings, a simple sketch of perfection carefully rendered in the muted blues and purples of twilight. I expected her to nod and leave me to my musings, as she was usually apt to do.

"Then would you mind if I joined you?" Her voice was light, containing an element of hopefulness that seeped out around the edges no matter how she tried to hide it. How could I refuse? She was already making her way to my side.

"Of course not, Kaoru-dono." It was a weak invitation, even for myself, but I couldn't bring myself to tell her that I just needed a few hours to think alone. She knelt beside me on the step, eyes focused on the cherry tree in the yard before us. It was just beginning to bloom, and its gnarled branches were hidden by fragrant clusters of pale white blossoms.

"Kenshin, I've been thinking, thinking about what happened at the Makita Dojo." Her eyes dropped to the ground before her, and she paused, apparently gathering her thoughts. "That boy, Sumire, he wasn't using Yoshida-san's style, was he?"

I recognized her question as an opening for me to explain what I knew of Sumire and his family...and usually I would have walked willing into her trap with an innocent smile on my face -- but not at that moment, not when I'd already made other plans for the hours between dusk and daybreak. "No Kaoru-dono, you're right. It was something different."

She sat expectantly, clearly waiting for more, but I didn't want to involve her in this. It was my problem, not hers. "Kenshin..." She reached out hesitantly to touch my arm and seemed almost surprised that I didn't pull away from the contact. "...it's okay. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

I always felt guilty when she turned to me with her eyes full of gentle sympathy. What had I done to deserve it? It was then that I made the decision -- I would tell her; I would tell her everything. She had accepted me as I was, a total stranger, but we were strangers no longer, and explaining my past was the very least I could do in return for her unconditional hospitality. But not tonight.

"I -- there's something I need to do...alone." I caught her hand between mine before she could pull it away, and it was warm and soft between my palms, calloused but still feminine. "I'm sorry, Kaoru-dono that it has to be like this, but we'll...talk in the morning. I promise." And she nodded, disappointment clearly imprinted in her eyes. I turned away.

- - - - - - - - - -

The heavy blankets of snow atop the mountains were slowly melting, and the water around my knees was freezing cold. It ran in anxious torrents down toward the sea, always rushing, rushing onward across the landscape. The silver moonlight glanced off the surface of the river, and the tree branches hung low across the water, their new leaves tossed about by the rising wind.

I closed my eyes, imagining the solid form of Shishou before me, his sword in hand. No matter how hard I tried, he had always been stronger. I could see the immense cloak edged in red, its hem just barely trailing in the water. It sat easily on his shoulders, as it probably had upon those of the previous Hiten Mitsurugi masters before him, and as I saw it once more in my mind, I knew again that it could never rest on mine.

"Again." I stared into the dark eyes towering over me, not caring that the voice was only a fragmented bit of memory resurfacing. In the quiet of the night, the past became reality.

I lunged forward, plunging deeper into the current. He had often dragged me out into the water to practice. Submerged up to my waist, I lost whatever advantage of speed I might have had on dry land. He always dipped his blade into the river before he struck. It was an old swordsman's move to trick an opponent by using the water to bend the light -- making it extremely difficult to tell exactly where the sword was. It wasn't long before I'd learned to visually calculate the difference.

And still I could hear that deep voice ordering me on...again... _Hiten mitsurugi ryuu tsui sen_! I let my eyes close as I fell from the sky, expecting only to land alone in the soft mud. Instead, something suddenly impacted with my stomach, sending me tumbling into the river shallows.

"I don't suppose many people have ever caught you unaware, Hitokiri Battousai," a soft voice remarked from somewhere to my right. "Or perhaps you've just gotten sloppy in these new times you worked so hard to create."

"Jiro Otsuka." It was a statement, not a question. How long had he been standing and watching? How had I not realized he was there? If he'd wanted he could have killed me while I was carelessly drifting between past and present...

"I see you remember me. Perhaps I should be flattered. Then again, I've heard that you've never forgotten a single face. Am I correct, Battousai?" He stood just deep enough so that the sheath of his katana brushed against the water's surface. His hands were tucked casually into his gi, but his eyes betrayed his nervous agitation.

"I no longer go by that name. I live today to atone for my past." My reply was a piercing whisper above the churning waters. I made no move to re-draw my sword.

"Atonement? What do you know of atonement?" He clenched his teeth together, ki suddenly blazing with barely-contained anger. "No amount of 'atonement' will bring my wife back to me, Hitokiri Battousai. Nothing you do today will change the past!" He reached for his katana, the larger of the daishou pair, and in one smooth motion swung it in a graceful arc before him.

"Otsuka-san, I don't think --" I grasped the hilt of the sakabatou as I sprang back but would not draw it unless I was left with no other option.

"Why are you just standing there wasting time? How do you know I haven't already been to your dojo tonight? Can you be certain that the girl and the brat are still alive?" He took a careful step toward me, smiling coldly.

It hadn't occurred to me that he might have drawn them into this. Why had I left them alone? Oh Kaoru-dono! He had to be bluffing...please Kami-sama! "How do I know you're not the one lying?" I growled in response struggling to keep my temper in check.

"Ah, but are you willing to risk the chance that I'm not?" He knew he had me cornered, and his smile shifted into a self-pleased smirk. He had known exactly where to strike. "I won't just let you walk away."

Then did I have not choice? Somehow he'd done his research -- I couldn't take the risk. I wouldn't breathe easily until I was sure they were safe. The water that I'd found soothing only moments before slammed into my legs like liquid ice, numbing both toes and mind. "Jiro --"

In less than a moment I had closed the distance between us, and as I snapped my sword toward his chest, he stumbled backward, trying to regain his footing on the soft bottom. I barely paused after the first attack, pushing off my back foot to thrust forward once again.

He brought the hilt of his sword high to the left, the blade protecting his head like a roof. The sakabatou glanced off of his defense, and I pulled my arms in close, spinning quickly to avoid leaving my back open and vulnerable. Cold waves from the river's surface sprayed up from our movements, drenching my hair and coating on my eyelashes. We paced just out of range, eyes locked and spirits clashing.

What was his weakness? Where was his technique flawed? My mind raced, analyzing his movements and reading his ki. He would come from the left next...a quick horizontal slash aimed to tear through my abdomen. I dodged, letting his sword swing through the air as I twisted and brought mine down hard upon his back.

He staggered, falling to his knees in the current, and I froze, wanting to run back to the dojo as fast as possible but waiting to make sure he wouldn't follow me. He'd given me more than enough trouble tonight. "You...you're fast, Battousai." His eyes were half-closed, his breathing rapid, but his voice was still calm, monotonous and deep as I'd remembered it. "But not fast enough."

I barely had time to register the movement before his wakizashi flew out of the water and embedded itself in my left shoulder. Where had it come from? Why hadn't I see it coming? Blood dripped down into the water, red droplets that disappeared when they hit the surface. I felt nothing.

"You should have killed me while you had the chance." From the way he slowly pressed to his feet I could tell he was in pain -- not that it mattered, for soon he wouldn't feel anything. I didn't take my eyes off of him as I reached up and pulled the blade from my shoulder, then flung it aside, well out of reach.

"You bastard." It was a low growl, and I hadn't anticipated the seething hostility in my voice. How had he pushed me so far into the past? But there was no time to contemplate such intricies of the mind. I attacked, a direct snapping motion aimed at his head, no frills, but he was ready. He brought his sword up to receive the blow -- just as the impact of a submerged log drifting with the current knocked both of us off our feet.

I resurfaced sputtering, icy water in my eyes and my lungs. Arms extended, I groped in the silvery darkness. Numb fingers closed first around soggy reeds, then smooth stones, and then at last around a solid hilt. There was no time to think, almost no time to act. As a blade came sweeping toward my chest I rolled to the side, counting on my body's buoyancy to keep me afloat. Without a thought I drew me feet underneath me and pushed off of the bottom. "_Hiten mitsurugi ryuu sou sen_!"

I was breathing hard as I staggered back, mouth open, head bowed. The slick rain fell, hot and red against my skin, burning like fire, and his katana dropped from my hand as the sakabatou fell from his. What should not have killed had turned fatal. It was raining blood, and I couldn't look at my hands, knowing what I'd see. Oh god, what had I done?

Shivering, I stumbled from the water, focusing solely on placing one foot in front of the other. I hadn't even noticed that I'd lost my sandals during the fight. They were probably more than a kilometer downstream by now, completely irretrievable. Once again on solid ground, I found myself sinking to my knees, dizzy and nauseous. My shoulder began to throb as palms slick with blood smacked against the dirt, and I felt my vision growing hazier...darker -- until there was only empty blackness.

end of part 4

- - - - - - - - - -

Note 1: Ah, such a cliffhanger, isn't it? I'm such a hypocrite -- I  
hate cliffhangers, and here I am writing one. Actually, the  
only reason why I've done it is because I don't want to  
break up the next part, and at the same time, I don't want  
this chapter to be a billion kilobytes long. So... this seemed  
to be the best place to insert the break. Email, email! All  
writers work best when hit periodically with little jolts  
of motivation.

- Mir (07.01.2001)

Note 2: Continuing to work my way through the revisions.  
Actually, it's probably more apt to call this "reformatting." As  
I move further into the plot, I'm realizing that I actually did a  
decent job on this story (better than I remember it to be),  
though I still dislike the first chapter and that first interlude.  
There's just something kind of _out of place_ about the writing  
style in both of them.

- Mir (06.16.2008)

.


	6. Part 5a: Sliding Sideways

Title: Hanafubuki  
Part 5: Sliding Sideways

AN: To my readers -- You may notice that this is part 5a. It's about  
16kbs, and it's not everything that I'd planned on getting into part 5.  
The reason why I'm sending it out thus incompleted is that I'm leaving  
on the 18th of July for 21 days, and I didn't want to leave Kenshin  
blacked out by the river for all this time . I might have been able  
to finish the chapter...but the part that's still forthcoming is quite  
important, and I didn't want to rush it. Therefore, enjoy this first half  
of part 5 and keep your eyes open for the rest of it as well as parts 6  
and beyond in mid-August!

--  
_Daylight fills the sky  
A shard of gold against brown  
Talking together_  
--

Part 5a

I awoke to the rich scent of moist dirt. It overwhelmed my senses, smothering my consciousness in a thick haze of decaying vegetation and stale river water. I swallowed hard to keep from vomiting as my mind tried to remember why I lying prone in the mud in the darkness of night? The ground blurred before unfocused eyes, then instantly snapped into focus with jarring clarity. Jiro Otsuka --

Eyes closed against dizziness, I slowly pressed first to my knees, then to my feet. The world dipped to the left, eventually righting itself, and I turned with reluctance, knowing exactly what I'd find behind me but denying the reality with every fiber of my being.

The body had washed halfway out of the river, and the blank eyes stared back at me in accusation. His gaze was as determined in death as it had been in life. A lot of good it did him now.

And half-buried in the mud at his feet lay a curved Japanese blade -- one whose cutting edge was on the inside instead of the outside. I reached for it numbly, pausing only to pass a hand over those dull sightless eyes. It was only after snapping the sakabatou downward in a traditional chiburi motion that I realized why the action felt so unnatural. When I first took up that sword I had vowed never to kill and -- and now, something had gone terribly wrong.

I stared out over the water, mouth hanging slightly open, air whistling softly in and out between dry lips. I had always feared that the taste of blood, its color and unforgettable smell, would hurl me mercilessly back into the hellish nightmare of Kyoto. For eleven years I'd turned away from the past in the hope of creating a better future. But where, if anywhere, was I now? Hitokiri... rurouni... neither sounded right out underneath the stars, those eternal pinpoints of light, the indifferent judges of humanity.

Sharp tendrils of pain radiated from my shoulder and down my back as I wrestled the body from the water. At least it was easy to dig a grave in the soft ground. Sodden clothes stuck stubbornly to clammy skin, and I shivered as the wind skimmed across my back and through my hair. It would be morning soon enough.

When I'd finally completed the grim task, I glanced dourly back across the water's still surface. A cluster of footprints, a fresh scar across the brown earth left by the weight of his body as I'd clutched his arms and staggered backward -- but even as I turned away, further evidence of the night's tragedy glittered tenaciously in the spreading sunrise. I turned to glance over my shoulder once again, eyes inexplicably drawn to the forgotten object.

And as the ephemeral tendrils of the gentle pink dawn washed over the ground and danced lightly upon the water, I picked up the golden hairpin, tucked it into my gi, and slowly started back toward the dojo.

- - - - - - - - - -

"And he didn't tell you where he was going?" The ground had fallen away beneath my feet, gradually shifting into the familiar streets of Tokyo, and walking slowly, I heard the voices before I saw the speakers.

"No, he just said he had something he needed to do alone." Ah, that was Kaoru-dono -- I hardly knew what to tell her. As much as I wished I could, I couldn't conceal the blood on my clothes and in my hair. I would undoubtedly make her worry again.

"That's strange. It's not like Ken-san to just go off like that...was he feeling all right? Perhaps I'd better check him over when he gets back." The two of them were sitting side by side on the dojo step, Kaoru in yellow and Megumi in lavender. A fleeting thought danced lightly in my mind: They seemed at peace with each other for a change... perhaps I should disappear more often?

"Kenshin?!" She jumped up from the step the moment she spotted me, a woven basket half-full of fresh bamboo shoots crashing onto the ground below beside her. "Where have you been? I was so worried --"

I stopped walking to watch her dash across the courtyard, her eyebrows drawn together in concern and eyes slightly damp from relief. But as I stood unmoving by the gate, she skidded to a halt about an arms length from me, her voice trailing off like the last whisper of a dying soul. I could guess the reason. "It's all right, Kaoru-dono," I murmured unconvincingly at last.

Her eyes widened, and it took her an interminably long moment to respond. "K-Kenshin... but... w-what..." For an awkward moment we stood facing each other, neither sure of what to say. Even the insects, it seemed, had broken off their morning gossip to respect the heavy silence. Then, with a slight shake of her head, she seemed to let her concern fall away into air, and before I realize what was happened she'd rushed to close the distance between us.

I tried not to wince as she threw her arms around my neck. Her breath was warm and moist next to my ear, and her fingers pressed gently between my shoulder blades. But my hands were dirty once more, stained red in the moonlight; I couldn't bring myself to touch her.

"Kenshin...you were gone all night, and I didn't know..." She shook her head slightly, eyes squeezed shut. "...where you were. I told myself that you wouldn't just leave without saying goodbye." My knees began to shake from the weight of her body hanging off of my neck, and I reached up to gently remove her arms.

"Kaoru-baka, get off of him. Can't you see he's hurt?" I hadn't heard Megumi approaching but gratefully accepted her help in easing Kaoru-dono back onto the ground. They both stared at me, each wanting to speak her mind but holding back for some reason... and I didn't know what I could offer as reassurance, for anything I said would have been a lie.

And I would have lied willingly to ease the worry around Kaoru's eyes and mouth, to release the tension held in her back and shoulders -- but as she reached up to brush the hair from her face she shook her head, eyes meeting mine. "Don't try and tell me everything's all right, Kenshin, because I can see that it's not. You don't have to talk now. Let's go inside and have Megumi take a look at you. Then later, perhaps..." Under Megumi's watchful gaze she reached forward and gently took my hands in hers.

I couldn't refuse the soft, pleading voice, couldn't turn away with her warm hands in mine. If only she knew that just a few hours ago I had...if only I had the courage to tell her... "Kaoru-dono, I --" There was so much to say, but I didn't know how to begin. Not that it mattered, though, because for a second time in one morning the world began to fade into darkness and I was left with only emptiness.

- - - - - - - - - -

"Damn it! I wonder what happened?" The distant echoing of voices caught the fluttering edge of my consciousness, anchoring me once more to reality. Like beads of water rolling off of a sagging leaf, the words slid elusively through my mind.

"Keep you voice down, you chicken-headed idiot. Do you always have to be so loud?" The second speaker was a woman... Megumi, my mind supplied after a pause. Yes, she and Sanosuke always seemed to be at each other's throats. It was an odd dance that continued day in and day out. I would have had to have been blind not to see them staring at each other when they thought the other's back was turned.

"Kaoru-dono?" My voice was a hoarse whisper, but Megumi heard it instantly and clamped a hand firmly over the mouth of her disgruntled companion. "She just stepped out to get water. She'll be right back." The response was calm, probably meant to be soothing, but my heart beat restlessly, refusing to be placated.

"Oh." I ran my tongue along dry lips, then blinked, squinting against the bright daylight. Something... something wasn't right. At first the walls seemed pressed inward, threatening to collapse on top of me, then a moment later they fled outward, flying further and further away until they were little more than dark specks disappearing into the distance. A moist drop of sweat slid down the side of my face.

"We're working on getting your fever down. Just lie still..." My eyes fell closed, and the silence grew thicker, blanketing the room and pressing down heavily upon my chest. I couldn't breathe --

"Kenshin? It's alright. I'm here now." Piercing through the silence, her voice was like the clear resonance of bells slicing through the morning fog. "Just rest. We're all safe; there's no need to worry."

Sometimes she seemed to anticipate my thoughts even before they formed in my mind... and as I once again drifted off into oblivion, a bemused notion flickered through the encroaching darkness. _'When had I become so predictable...?'_

- - - - - - - - - -

"Are you sure you should be up yet?" I knew it be a rhetorical question, for we both knew that if I hadn't been sure, I wouldn't have gotten up. She hovered worriedly at my right elbow, eyes sweeping me from head to toe and back again. "I don't care what you say, Kenshin. I'm not letting you lay one finger on the laundry."

From the look in her eyes I could see that she was serious, and I would have been crazy not to heed her warning. It had been three days since... since that night, and no one had pressed me for details -- they had most likely been bullied into silence by the liberal application of Kaoru-dono's bokken. One day I would have to thank her. Yes, another day. "I wasn't thinking about the laundry-- "

"You can't fool me, Kenshin. Admit it. It did cross your mind, didn't it?" We started drifting away from the step, slowing placing one foot in front of the other. The sun, shining warmly upon our backs, was still rising in the sky, for it was only midmorning.

"I was thinking of other things, actually," I replied softly, glancing downward as we past the small vegetable garden. In the few days I'd been resting it looked as though it'd exploded into a brilliant display of greenery. And as I stared absentmindedly down at the ground, she reached hesitantly for my hand.

"Megumi will yell at me for letting you out of bed without your sling." I could tell she was avoiding the questions she wanted to ask... probably in the hope that I would answer without prompting. Unable to conceal the hopefulness in her eyes, she looked up at me through dark lashes, and surprisingly I smiled.

"If I'm careful and don't pull the stitches then she'll have nothing to complain about, right?" As we neared the small bench, I gently steered her toward it, and she willingly followed my lead. "Kaoru-dono, I wanted to talk with you. I've kept so much to myself for so long -- it's always been easier that way, but we're not strangers anymore... and you, of all people, deserve to know."

She sat like a statue, neither blinking nor breathing, and I was about to hesitantly continue when she suddenly swallowed and whispered lightly, "-- know what, Kenshin?" We were sitting in the shadows beyond the sun's warm embrace. Before I'd been afraid to pull her alongside me into the darkness, but something had changed, and somehow it didn't seem to matter as much anymore.

"...who I am." Yes, she'd caught glimpses of the hitokiri before -- for isolated moments like during the battle against Jin-e -- but I'd always deluded myself into thinking that I could have some sort of control over my past's resurfacing. Now, knowing better, I felt vulnerable, more vulnerable than I'd felt since I'd first been alone those many years ago.

"I was six years old when my parents died. They were taken by one of the plagues that swept across the countryside like fire across dry grasses. There was no one left except the slave traders who followed along in death's wake to pick over the living remains. I suppose I owe my life to them -- ironic, isn't it?..."

- - - - - - - - - -

I lay awake on my futon long after the others had submitted to slumber's sweet embrace. The walls were draped with soft purple shadows, but the night was far from quiet. The voices, so persistent in their accusations, spit angry words from the darkened corners. Battered and exhausted I closed my eyes against the barrage, but the faces were burnt into my mind, welded onto my being by the steamy heat of dripping blood.

Like in my first years with Shishou, I'd indulged myself in wishful naiveté. I had made a vow, a promise to myself and the world in which I lived. I still said the words in my mind, but now they echoed hollowly without meaning. The rich sent of blood was intoxicating, and the bitter aftertaste only a small price to pay for the deep metallic --

My eyes snapped open, and I stared intently at the ceiling, unable to control the thoughts spinning wildly through my mind. With hands clenched into white-knuckled fists I shifted, and something sharp jabbed unexpectedly into my skin. Then I remembered. No worse for wear from its change in ownership, the golden hairpin lay heavily against my chest, rising up and down with each shallow breath.

I had lost control of my actions, my thoughts, my balance -- and the world tilted dangerously, first in one direction and then in the other. I was hitokiri and rurouni; I was both, I was neither. I was a candle with no control over the brightness of its flame. I was unsure of who I was becoming.

end of part 5a

- - - - - - - - - -

Note 1: Yes, if you haven't figured it out already I'm leaving and I won't be  
back for quite a bit. I'm going to write while I'm away (hopefully), and feel  
free to email me as well -- just keep in mind that if I don't respond for awhile  
it doesn't mean that I don't like you g! I always write back to everyone...  
patience is a virtue. Have a fantastic summer everyone.

- Mir (07.16.2001)

Note 2: Another day, another revision. I'm gradually working my way through  
these chapters with an eye toward actually finishing this story this year.  
There's something about unfinished work that just hangs over my head  
somehow. Not that I should care, really... but it's just been sort of eating at  
me for, oh, the last seven years or so.

- Mir (06.17.2008)  
.


	7. Interlude 2: Kaoru

title: Hanafubuki | Interlude 2  
rating: pg-13  
author: Mir  
email: cathedraldragon@bigfoot.com  
website: http://tfmeijiera.tripod.com/  
  
disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin was created by Watsuki Nobuhiro,   
published by Shueisha in "Jump," and produced by Sony   
Entertainment. All rights are theirs. I have no money to speak   
of, so suing me will not make you rich. This story contains   
spoilers for...I'm not quite sure what...up until the Kyoto Arc   
and the OAV's, I think (plus corresponding manga volumes).  
Many thanks to maigo-chan for her manga translations.   
  
AN: This is the revised version of the second interlude... there   
were aspects of the original that were quite awkward, and   
there were some points that I'd forgotten to include altogether.   
I know it's been awhile since I've updated this fic -- I've been   
concentrating on other works, I admit, but I do intend to finish   
it, have no fear... it just might take me longer than I originally   
planned ^_~. Enjoy!  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
*Interlude 2: Kaoru*  
  
  
When he left me alone that night I wanted nothing more than to   
rush after him into the darkness -- but I didn't, couldn't. The air was   
completely still, and only the occasional chirps of crickets pierced the   
unsympathetic darkness. I squeezed my eyes closed imagining I could   
still hear his footsteps long after they'd faded into the distance, and I   
bit my lip to keep from calling out his name.   
  
And once again I realized that there's a part of him that I've never   
been able to reach, a part of him that he guards so carefully from us all.   
Sometimes even when I sit beside him, he seems completely alone, so   
deep in thought that I could be miles away, and he wouldn't even notice.   
I wonder if it's because he doesn't trust me.  
  
But I have to remind myself of who he is... and all he's been   
through. When I look into his eyes I find myself pleading silently for him   
to share his thoughts, but he rarely does. I promise myself that I'd follow   
him to Hell and back without a second thought -- but I wonder if, in   
reality, I'd be able to keep my word.  
  
I try to deny the possibility that he night leave again one day. He's   
become so much a part of my daily life that I can hardly seem to remember   
the loneliness of living by myself in the empty dojo. Even when he doesn't   
say a word, his presence seems to fill the air and keep the aching feeling   
in my chest from returning. But he left in the middle of the night, and I fell   
asleep on the dojo porch, dreaming of his safe return.  
  
And then suddenly he reappeared at the gate -- dripping wet,   
stained red with blood, and practically asleep on his feet. The relief that   
flooded through my mind overwhelmed all other emotions, drowning my   
senses and freezing my limbs. I wanted to hold him tightly in my arms,   
scold him for putting himself in danger (yet again), lose myself in those   
exhausted violet eyes.... I wanted him take me into his confidence, but   
didn't say a word. Why won't he ever let me ease the pain?  
  
It always surprises me how all his years and troubles seem to fall   
away when he sleeps, leaving a stranger in his place. His lips were parted   
slightly, his breathing deep and regular from Megumi's medicine, and I   
stared at the rising and falling of his chest to assure myself that he was   
indeed only sleeply.  
  
In the calmness of his features I saw another man, one who, under   
different circumstances, followed his heart (just as the man who lay before   
me did) but walked a different path. Instead of fighting with the Ishin   
Shishi against the Shogunate in the dark alleys of Kyoto, this man lived a   
quiet life of love and service to those around him.  
  
But the second man, the one whose hands never held a sword and   
whose left cheek remains unscarred, is not the man that I've grown to love.   
My Kenshin is himself because of his past, not despite it. He's seen humanity   
at its worst, and I can only hope that he'll let himself experience it at its best   
as well.   
  
My Kenshin, the rurouni, tries so hard to create an illusion of   
carefree light-heartedness during the day. But even when I watch him   
playing with Ayame and Suzume, there's no mistaking the easy grace in   
his movements or the astute penetration of his gaze. He buries his past   
deep inside his mind, but his body remembers and refuses to leave it   
behind.  
  
I knelt beside his futon on the floor, and as I diped a cloth in cool   
water and gently folded it across his forehead, I wondered if the blood   
on his clothes had been solely his own. There was so much....   
  
He always tries to protect me from everything, from others, even   
from himself. Sometimes he acts as though he's as much a threat to me as   
the enemies from his past who spend their lives hunting his shadow. But   
I know I'd face the most dire of threats if afterwards I could spend the rest   
of my days by his side. He doesn't understand that I'd rather die than be   
left in the world without him.  
  
When I'm alone I often wonder what thoughts make their way   
through his mind, and I wonder if he thinks of me as I find myself thinking   
of him. He's never told me where he learned to cook... or why he always   
seems so eager to help with the laundry. Although he's lived at the dojo   
for months he's still so much of a mystery in so many ways.  
  
But as he lay before me I couldn't summon the courage to explain   
my feelings even to his unconscious form. The distance between us was   
at once both a tiny crack and a vast chasm, and even now my heart shies   
away from the divide. Why is life so complicated?.  
  
  
*end of interlude*  
  
- - - - - - - - - -   
  
I plan on going back through the rest of this piece and   
making revisions (which is good because I've almost   
completely forgotten some of the parts I wrote last spring!).   
I acually enjoy the revision process... it just takes time,   
like everything else in life, and time is something I wish   
I had more of. Visit TFME (http://tfmeijiera.tripod.com/).   
It's a RK fanfiction archive with weekly updates, etc.   
  
- Mir (08.31.01 ~ 02.12.02)  
. 


	8. Part 5b: Wisdom

Title: Hanafubuki  
Part 5b: Wisdom

AN: Ah ha! Here's the (hopefully, or perhaps I'm dreaming)  
long-awaited conclusion to the fifth chapter. Let me just mention  
that I had a lot of fun writing it...despite the fact that I wrote it in  
about a half-dozen parts and then wove them together bit by bit.  
I've been writing the plot for this story about two or three chapters  
ahead of the current chapter-in-progress, and I was quite excited  
to discover what this chapter had in store for me! Just shows  
you how terrible my memory is... Anyhow, maybe it's just that  
I love to put poor Kenshin though mental anguish (and that I think  
he and Kaoru make the cutest couple!). Ah, but I don't want to  
spoil the chapter, now, do I? Enjoy!

--  
_Not trusting myself  
I spin blindly in daylight  
Seeing ghosts again_  
--

Part 5b

"Kenshin, we're going to the Akabeko. Are you coming?" I could picture Kaoru-dono standing at the dojo's entrance, the midday sunlight glancing playful off her dark hair, and I indulged myself in a quiet smile.

"Yes, I'll be along in just a moment." With mild regret I pulled myself away from such pleasant thoughts and plunged once more into the cold, deep waters of the present. I had not left the dojo since I'd returned. Inside its walls I could pretend as though nothing had happened, feign ignorance of the disconcerting sensations pressing upon my mind, deny that anything had changed -- but beyond the gate...

How could I ever trust myself again? All those many years ago I had thought that the sakabatou would be sufficient to forever seal the hitokiri deep within me well beyond the light of day. But recent events had thrust spears of apprehension deep inside my heart and mind, and I shivered at the recollection of latent power so easily at my fingertips.

Yes, it had been a mistake -- but I had made the same one in the past, and I had no assurance that the future would be different. I paused at the entrance to my room, hand resting lightly on the sliding door, eyes tracing the interlocking patterns of the tatami mats to where my futon lay folded against the wall.

The sakabatou was propped beside it, a blade ignorant of blood since the day of its creation. But I could not trust myself to carry it. Since the day that Hiko had taken me in, I had lived my life as a servant to my sword. I had been tested by its sharpness, and somehow I'd outlived its bloody reign. But I had left the stained set of blades behind, left my past but not abandoned it.

And now, struck with the realization that inner peace was merely an unobtainable ideal born by minds untainted by the dying cries of souls, I closed my eyes and turned from the room. It was too dangerous for me to feel the cool metal beneath my fingers, too dangerous for those I cared for.

"Uh, Kenshin -- aren't you forgetting something?" Yahiko's unanticipated question startled me as I stepped through the dojo's gate, and I blinked as I stared down at him, rapidly formulating a response while trying to put on my best rurouni act.

"Forgetting something? Not that I know of..." I pulled my features into what I hoped would be a suitably convincing expression of innocence, and shrugged to emphasize the point. "...but the weather is exceptionally nice today for early spring, don't you think." It was a blatant dodge away from the question, but although his brow furrowed slightly, Yahiko didn't seem to mind, for he nodded in agreement, then dashed off to harass Kaoru-dono.

- - - - - - - - - -

I trailed behind the others, hands tucked into my gi, eyes following the gentle dipping of their heads. The wind flipped clouds of dust from the road through my hair, and casual voices floated up and down on warm gusts of spring air.

The route to the Akabeko was a familiar one -- each footstep fell softly beside the previous, but even as my jaw tightened and my fingers clenched into fists with each flicker of movement caught by a sidelong glance, I could feel myself drifting lightly, hovering somewhere between yesterday and today, unsure of which direction would lead to tomorrow.

"Hey, you planning on standing in the street all day?" Yahiko was staring up at me, hands on his hips and bony elbows sticking out into the air. "We're not getting any closer just standing here --"

He would most likely have continued indefinitely had not a hand clamped itself firmly over his mouth. "Kenshin, are you feeling alright? I can walk back to the dojo with you if you'd like..." Although her concern was genuine, the repetitive inquiries about my health were becoming redundant, and I was surprised to find myself biting back a sharper retort than I'd uttered in years.

"Fine, just fine..." I lifted my hands in defense, willing my features to settle into their typically cheerful arrangement. "...there's no need to worry, Kaoru-dono." From her drawn expression I could tell that she didn't believe me, but I pulled my mouth into a smile and avoided meeting her eyes. Her hand rested gently upon my arm, warm and smooth as the muddy river bottom. I shivered.

Megumi and Sanosuke met us at the Akabeko, the former all smiles and quiet giggles, the later clearly enjoying himself although he feigned annoyance. Each shouted warm greetings as we approached, and with their arrival it seemed almost as though our 'family' was complete.

I can't say when I'd begun to think of my friends as such, for I hadn't felt such a clear sense of belonging since I'd left the Ishin Shishi. But as I looked around me at the faces that had become familiar in the past months, I saw in their eyes an unconditional acceptance that I had previously resigned myself to live without. I'd been more than willing to sacrifice personal happiness for the good of Japan...to protect the innocent lives of my nation.

But now -- somehow when I thought of the odd circle that had fallen in place around me, I couldn't imagine what I'd do if anyone attempted to break it. Whether I'd asked for it or not, this was my 'family', and I had to protect them, no matter what the cost.

- - - - - - - - - - -

As I sat cross-legged at the table, the usual noisy clamor carried on unsuppressed around me. Yahiko, with a mischievous grin spread across his face, leaned forward to snatch a piece of beef out from under Kaoru poised chopsticks... only to have her smack him roughly across the head, sending rice spewing out in random vectors through the air.

The daily rituals of the Kamiya Dojo were playing themselves out before my eyes in a cycle as constant and predictable as the changing of the seasons. In some ways, it was a comfort to have such a constant in my life. I had known so few in my past.

Beyond the immediate action, the other patrons gathered around tables in small clusters. Here, a man, hunched and wrinkled with age, quietly reminisced with friends over endless rounds of sake. There, a young waitress, smiling cheerfully and eager to please, set a steaming bowl of noodles before a child and his father. The gentle murmur of conversation rose and fell in indistinct patterns, and I cast my senses out into the room -- a long-ingrained habit essential in past days for self-preservation.

"Are you saying that he's been gone since Tuesday?" The speaker crinkled his brow in disbelief, sake halfway between the table and his mouth. His companion nodded slowly in reluctant affirmation. "And he didn't leave a note or any kind of explanation whatsoever?"

For some reason I felt drawn to the conversation as a moth is to a lantern glowing in the dark, and as I listened intently, the other noises began to fade further and further into the background until the words sat starkly against a backdrop of perfect silence. A light tingling sensation brushed the back of my neck, spreading outward down my spine and across my shoulders. I froze in apprehension but said nothing.

"...and his son isn't making matters easier. Keeps ranting and raving about how he's certain that his father's been murdered -- if only he had the evidence to prove it." The man shook his head tiredly, sighing with annoyance. "Claims that it's the work of the Hitokiri Battousai, of all people. Can you believe it? No one's seen the man for over a decade, and the boy concocts some wild story about how the hitokiri and his father were enemies during the Bakumatsu. Kids these days..."

I could feel the blood running cold in my veins, my eyes narrowing, and my shallow breaths coming faster and faster as my heartbeat accelerated. It was too much of a coincidence, too familiar to ignore.

"...yeah, the kid trains at the Makita Dojo... is fairly competent from what I hear, if a little too full of himself when he thinks his sensei isn't listening. You can never be certain, though... yes, I know -- it's wonderful what a good instructor can do..."

At the words I felt my legs unfold themselves as if acting under their own violation. One hand slipped into my gi; the other reached for the sakabatou, absent from my side. At the table conversation fell suddenly into silent confusion, but I barely noticed.

Before my eyes, the world dimmed as though a thick layer of black storm-clouds had passed before the sun. The sharp edges of the golden hairpin dug into the fingers of my left hand, and I stepped past Yahiko, ignoring his exclamation of surprise as I left the table without a word.

Somewhere, something in my mind screamed and pounded against an invisible barrier, warning me of my actions, but I didn't -- couldn't respond, for in two quick strides I was at their table. "Shuen Shimizu is dead." The pin fell from my hand to the wooden top with a hollow thump that echoed in my ears long after the sound had faded. "You'd be wasting your time looking for him."

Again I felt my hand slide down to my side, and again it touched nothing but air. I clenched my teeth together in frustration, torn between giving into the inexplicable anger growing inside of me...or disappearing out onto the street, a shadow turning tail in shame.

I'm still not certain how it happened, but suddenly something snapped -- an audible flash of incandescent light in my mind -- and the next thing I knew I was running blindly through the streets of Tokyo, submissive to my feet's will and desire. Buildings flew by, as insubstantial as the dry leaves in autumn, and the ground was an indistinct blur beneath my sandals.

I ran until my breath hissed painful through of clenched teeth, until my heart pounded so rapidly in my chest that I could barely distinguish the individual beats comprising the frantic rhythm. Sweat dripped from my forehead in salty drops, and as I came to an exhausted halt, the world's spinning gradually slowed until the scene before me stood still at last.

If one lives long enough it's impossible to discard the concept of fate. The gates of the Kamiya Dojo were closed, but I entered without knocking. Somehow I knew they hadn't returned yet. Mockingly serene, the courtyard spread out around me, resplendent in the crisp beauty of early-spring rejuvenation. I bypassed the door -- and took to the roof instead.

The sky was clear but quiet, and for that I was thankful. No birds swooped intrusively down from the trees, and not a single cloud passed overhead to encourage the imagination. I focused on these trivial aspects of normality, focused on them to keep my mind from drifting toward more dangerous thoughts.

I couldn't seem to understand anything anymore. Events had spun out of my control, and reliable constants crumbled beneath my fingertips. My thoughts were tinged with an overarching sense of trepidation. Even in the city of Kyoto, even within the unchecked chaos that had swept though the streets like wildfire consuming everything in its path, even as the silent deliverer of death -- I had control. I had purpose.

Or at least I thought I had. I closed my eyes, palms pressed against the warm roof beneath me, fingertips brushing lightly against the hilt of the sakabatou I had no recollection of retrieving. I had had no choice over my targets. With the appearance of each black envelope I'd pulled myself farther and farther into that certain all-encompassing numbness that blankets the senses and freezes the mind.

Did I believe in fate? Tomoe... my only decision, perhaps. I'd stepped forward and arrogantly knocked fate aside. No, I didn't need the blood of a woman on my hands. She fell silently into my arms, and I carried her back to the inn, the slick metallic dampness baptizing the both of us to the dawning of a new day.

"...but if he's not here, where would he have gone?" The voices, originating from outside the walls, announced the return of the other inhabitants of the dojo, and I turned on my rooftop perch to watch their approach.

"Kenshin? Kenshin?" Kaoru was the one who started the chorus, but soon Yahiko, Sanosuke, and even Megumi added their voices as well. I sat looking down at them, hidden by the shadows and invisible to their senses.

"Should we go back out and continue searching?" It was Yahiko who posed the question, the slightly frantic edge to his voice betraying his unease. "I mean, what if he --"

Kaoru-dono, subdued, slowly shook her head as she placed one hand lightly on her student's shoulder. "No. He'll come back when he can. We have to trust him. He's been though a lot recently." But I hadn't revealed the details of the other night to her -- hadn't found a way to admit that I'd broken my vow, however unintentional it might have been. "Come on now. Let's go inside."

- - - - - - - - - - -

I remained by myself through the afternoon and into early evening. As the sun gradually arched across the sky I traced its path and cast my thoughts back into memories of Kyoto. As much as I despised myself for making the others worry, I needed to come to some sort of resolution -- needed to check the accelerating downward spiral before I pulled those around me into the maelstrom.

Sitting quietly, I relived the days of the revolution and once again stood behind my sword in streets of Kyoto. And so the hours past. Moments flashed by in rapid succession... each face appearing and disappearing before my eyes. The hollow ringing of clashing metal resounded in my ears, and the dark smoke of burning buildings once again covered on my clothes and coated my lungs.

And then, as suddenly as they'd begun, the scenes passed, dissolving into the oncoming darkness as the fading shades of daylight sunk beneath the horizon. I could not let the past become reality once more. Although the path called to me with deceptive sweetness, I had never killed for pleasure, never relished the taste of blood. No, I wouldn't let myself slip back into the days long gone. Never.

Thus determined, I reached for the sakabatou and slid over to the edge of the roof. Perhaps Kaoru-dono had already gone to bed -- perhaps I'd be able to slip inside without disturbing her. I winced slightly as my feet impacted with the ground, only then noticing the dried blood that flaked off of my gi and fluttered to the dirt. Sprinting through Tokyo had not been the best of ideas. Then again, I hadn't really had a choice.

Pressing one hand against the injured shoulder I tiptoed lightly around to the side of the dojo. Reaching out mentally, I could sense Yahiko and Kaoru sitting quietly in their rooms but could tell nothing more. I would have to risk their noticing my entrance.

I crept along the walls, eyes half-closed against dizziness brought about from moving too quickly after sitting still all afternoon. I didn't see her until she reached out and touched my arm. "Kenshin." Her delicate features were cast in shadow by soft strands of moonlight, but her eyes glowed brightly before me like two trembling lanterns.

"I heard you moving around on the roof, so I knew you were safe." She smiled as she answered my unspoken question -- it was something she seemed to be doing more and more of lately. "Kenshin --" She seemed torn between taking a step forward or one back, reluctant to pull her hand away but not wanting to seem improper.

I made the choice for her and stepped away. "I'm sorry Kaoru-dono, that I am. I didn't mean to make you worry, but I --"

She shook her head vehemently, hands reaching forward once more to take mine. "No, didn't you hear? I didn't worry because I knew you were safe. Do you think I would have just sat around all afternoon if I'd thought you were still wandering somewhere around Tokyo?" My eyes widened slightly -- she did have a point.

But before I could respond she'd stepped toward me, gaze first focused on the floor then lifting shyly to meet mine. "Kenshin, whatever you do, don't try to be someone you're not." She paused for a moment before continuing. "You've carried a sword your whole life... and you've done so much good with it, no matter what you say. We're all here for you whenever you need us. All you need to do is ask."

She must have noticed that I hadn't taken the sakabatou with me, must have noticed and graciously not said a word.

"A sword is only an extension of the hand behind it. If the hand's steady, then there's nothing to fear--" When had she become so wise?

"--and if it's not?"

Abruptly she turned, dropping my hands and starting back in the direction of her room, but she paused and twisted around to look over her shoulder when she realized that I wasn't following. "Come with me. I've something to show you."

end of part 5b

--

Note 1: Ah, a little bit of a cliffhanger, ne? I'm so sorry this  
chapter took such a long time to get out! I've so much going  
on right now that it's been hard, hard, hard to find time to  
write RK fanfiction. Take a look at my new fic "Divergence" if  
you get the chance, and please visit the site below! I'm  
really excited about it, and hope that one of these days it'll  
take off. - Mir (09.16.2001)

Note 2: I'm continuing my edits... frankly I must have had my  
coffee when I wrote this chapter because I changed very little.  
Perhaps it would be more accurate to say I'm giving these  
chapters a close read with the aim of finishing this story  
sometime this year. - Mir (06.26.2008)


	9. Part 6: Equilibrium

Title: Hanafubuki  
Part 6: Equilibrium

AN: Hey everyone -- sorry this story has been dragging along for so long.  
Honestly, I have every intention of getting a part out each week...and  
then life happens. So I wish to extend my thanks to everyone who has  
thus far put up with my terrible posting schedule and has sent me very  
kind reminders that I need to get off my lazy butt and do some writing.  
This includes Bunny, Susan, Key, Naomi, Hikari, Jessica, Girliegirl, Monica,  
Jen... among other people who I'm certain I'm forgetting. Again, many  
thanks. Now -- on with the show (or something like that).

--  
_In the remembrance  
Of days never forgotten  
I sigh with eyes closed_  
--

Part 6

She turned away again, muffled footsteps retreating down the hallway -- 'Kaoru-dono, wait' -- and, finally shaking myself free from the fog of surprise, I followed.

I stared only at the back of her kimono with no regard for direction. We moved as one, a young woman and her shadow. I concentrated on the rhythm of her hair swinging gently from side to side as she walked, clinging to the image before me as a drowning man clings to even the most fragile of lifelines. Suddenly she pivoted, one hand on the open doorway, and her eyes lifting nervously to meet my own.

"Kenshin, I..." Her mouth remained half-open as her eyes widened and her mind seemed to spin frantically in a futile search for words. Defeated at last by the weight of the silence, she exhaled forcefully and clenched her teeth together. I followed her into the room.

Her futon was spread out across the floor as though she'd gone to bed but had been unable to sleep, and from a low table, a solitary lamp flickered weakly in the purple darkness of twilight. As I lingered in the doorway, she silently lit another, and by the light of the twin glows I could see the slight trembling in her steps as she drifted to the battered wooden chest in the far corner of the room. My heart raced in empathy.

"Father told me that this was my mother's favorite." Silken folds of deep crimson spilled downward from her hands, and my gaze followed the ends of the scarf to where they brushed lightly against her legs. "He said she wore it every time she went out." Her eyes closed as she brushed the fabric against her cheek, and a smile formed at the corners of her mouth.

I watched as she inhaled deeply, her nose buried within the soft folds, and her hands trembled as she held her breath within her chest. Then she shook her head, eyes snapping open. "I used to think that I could smell the scent she wore. I don't know why it was always so important to me, but I'd bother Father for hours just asking if he remembered. He couldn't tell me, couldn't remember." She stared at the fabric, gaze tracing the shadows cast in the valleys of folds.

"I imagined that the fragrance was as refreshing as the first hints of spring, as delicate as the rhythms of butterfly wings, as subtle as the soft pink hues of morning washing across the dawn sky. She paused, her voice trailing hesitantly off into the darkness, and I stood by, silently listening.

"But it was just my imagination. I don't know what scent she wore, and I never will." Her words launched my mind off onto a tumbling journey of memories, and once again the distinctive fragrance of white plum dragged me into the unforgiving embrace of time.

"I used to be furious with her for leaving me alone. Everyone else had a mother -- everyone but me... It wasn't until later that I realized that she hadn't left by choice. Of course she didn't ask to die." In the soft glow of the lamplight, old wounds of the heart had reopened, and with eyes squeezed shut against the salty moisture of memory, she sunk tiredly to her knees.

And as I hesitated, a firm voice deep within my mind and soul seemed to whisper insistently -- 'I lost my first love through reservation and hesitation. Don't follow in my footsteps' -- and again my head spun, drenched with the scent of eleven years past. So I knelt by her side, offering my shoulder for support, and she clung to me, white knuckles gripping my gi and head buried in its folds.

"I'm sorry...so sorry, I didn't mean to--" Gradually the wracking sobs faded into suppressed sniffles, and she guiltily loosened her grip, cheeks blushing pink in embarrassment. "--completely fall apart." We sat in silence for a moment, a surprisingly comfortable unstated agreement of reflection, and when she pulled away to take a more socially-acceptable seat by my side, it was with regret that I let her out of my arms.

Everything had swing off-center, oscillating between the past and the present, what I was and who I'd become, what I wanted of the world and what the world wanted of me. But somehow, within her arms I felt secure, as if her mere presence kept the demons at bay.

"Kenshin... your family -- your parents, do you remember...?" Her voice trailed off as if she was suddenly aware of her words and how I would take them. As it was, for some reason, I didn't mind. Not from her, never from her.

My voice was low, steadier than I felt inside. "Yes... although Hiko-sensei was, in actuality, more of a parent to me than anyone else in my... childhood." The word didn't seem to fit, not as a description for my early life. "But my mother, she... I remember that she loved me."

- - - - - - - - - -

"Shinta-chan?" It was the voice of a mother, concerned and tinged with the harshness of panic. "Where are you?" The wind threw heavy clouds across the blackened sky, and the trees bent from side to side, their branches snapping in the violence of the oncoming storm.

Inside the rough hut, a boy, small for his age, no more than five or six years in stature, huddled against the wall in fear, his eyes staring intensely at the door as if convinced that its opening would spell his assured demise. Knees drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped tightly around them, he held his breath as the unforgiving winds shook the wall behind him.

The village was a good-sized rural community that had once been proud of its prosperity, but drought had parched the soil dry, and the nearby river had all but disappeared from its banks. Still, the worst was the plague. When the rains finally arrived, they brought with them a terrible sickness that spread across the land like wildfire, eradicating entire villages and leaving in its wake a population so weak and dehydrated that the living had neither the strength nor the willpower to honor the dead.

"Shinta -- thank god you're safe!" She swept the boy up in her arms, pressing him against her chest as he buried his face in her hair. He whimpered softly, and she rubbed his back, gently rocking back and forth. They sat together as one on the sodden floor, neither moving until the mother turned her head abruptly to the side, coughing. And around them, the storm raged on into the night, tears shed upon a land already weeping in sorrow.

"Mother?" He wiggled restlessly out of the cold, unmoving arms as orange daylight flooded in through the open door. "Mother?!" His voice cracked as he lay on the floor beside her, eyes squeezed tightly in denial and trembling arms wrapped around her neck.

- - - - - - - - - -

"Kenshin..." The noise tugged insistently on my mind, and when I couldn't ignore it any longer, I blinked several times, struggling to drag myself out of the half-forgotten memories. She was calling my name. "...are you alright?"

"W-what?" She was at my side, gentle eyes holding mine as her fingers brushed against my arm in a gesture that was becoming increasingly familiar. I stifled a sigh, my eyes falling half-closed as I forced myself to smile. "Don't worry, Kaoru-dono. Everything's going to be alright." If only I could convince myself...

She nodded silently, but I could tell that she didn't completely believe my words from the hesitation in the movement and tension visible in the lines around her mouth. Her hand fell away, then was extended again, this time to the left side of my gi where pink and red had merged in a marbled sea of dampness. "Your shoulder -- it's bleeding again."

She didn't say a word as she led back to my room and proceeded to the corner where Megumi had left her supplies. With every step, every gesture, every breath drawn in between parted lips, I could read her concern, see the unconditional generosity that was manifest in her thoughts and actions. Within the soul of the strong-willed girl was an equally strong-willed woman -- beautiful, intelligent, and freely-giving of her time and kindness.

The warm air had chilled with the onset of night, and her fingers were cool as they carefully pulled aside the sticky cloth. They lingered briefly upon my chest, her hand trembling faintly. "Kaoru-dono... you don't have to--"

'--don't have to soil your hands with myself and my past', I finished in my mind. But I couldn't bring myself to speak the words, for although my mind insisted that I protect her innocence, there was a tension in my heart that gripped my throat and mudded my thoughts.

"I don't have to do anything. I do it because I want to," she replied softly as she proceeded to clean the wound and wrap fresh bandages around my shoulder. "You don't always have to protect me, Kenshin." Finally, she lifted her face, and a silver wash of moonlight, so delicate and transitive in the dark embrace of time, accented the whites of her eyes and highlighted her smooth cheekbones. "I'm here for you as well."

The web she spun, as I teetered back and forth on the edge of sanity, rose up to enfold me, but I squeezed me eyes closed and tried to gather together my scattered feelings. "Thank you." The words seemed inadequate, and mentally I kicked myself for not being able to express my astonishment and gratitude that she, after everything that had happened, was still willing to stand at my side. But at the same time, for some reason, it wasn't surprising in the least.

She tied off the ends of the bandage, eyes focused on her hands. "You have no idea what Megumi will do to me if finds out that you reopened the wound after all her hard work." Her voice held a tone of mild rebuke, but I could tell from the slight twitch of her mouth that she meant no offense.

"You don't have to worry, Kaoru-dono. I won't breath a word of it." She had moved away to carefully return the supplies to their proper place, and the air, devoid of her close presence, was colder. I shivered.

"Now I don't want to hear any more excuses. You're going to bed, Kenshin, and that's final -- no arguing." As she began to spread the futon out on the floor she turned to glare in my direction, eyes narrowed and lips pressed together in determination. I sat unmoving as she smoothed imaginary wrinkles from the bedding. "Kenshin... please?"

There was no resisting the whispered plea, no denying the worried eyes that found mine in the soft moonlight, and I complied without further comment, settling onto my back as she fussed with the covers. At last, seemingly satisfied with the arrangement, she sat back on her heels, hands on her thighs and hair falling lightly across her face.

"Goodnight, Kenshin..." There were so many thoughts but no words to express them, so many feelings half-formed in hearts and minds. She paused, as if debating whether to say more, then with one last visual examination rose from the ground.

"And to you as well, Kaoru-dono." I could feel my eyelids growing heavy as the day's exertion reached forth to grip my consciousness, and her smile as she slid the paper door closed was the last image I remembered before sinking once again into the familiar comfort of empty blackness.

- - - - - - - - - -

With the rising of the morning sun over the tree line, another day began. The fragile sunlight filtered down between the new spring leaves, brushing against the ground and encouraging the birds to sing. If only I, too, could leave my troubles behind me like the dawn chases away the memories of night...

The girls were at each others' throats in the kitchen, and as I sat on the porch, I tried not to cringe as their voices rose higher and higher with each passing minute. In all fairness, although it had been Megumi's idea to come over and make lunch, it was Kaoru-dono who had insisted on helping.

When I had left them they'd been collaborating on the sashimi (each trying to maintain possession of both the knife and the raw fillets of fresh fish), but it seemed as though they were in distinct disagreement over how best to arrange the thin slices on the awaiting dishes.

"Arg, I can't believe that no one ever showed you the correct way to skin a fish!" Even out underneath the morning sky, I couldn't escape the comments shouted in frustration from inside. "I'm surprised you haven't cut your fingers off yet!"

"And who made you the resident expert in the kitchen? Don't you forget that this is my kitchen anyway! Who invited you to come in and take it over?" I could picture Kaoru standing before her taller friend, chin held high in defiance and eyes blazing in anger. She was, without a doubt, a considerable force to be reckoned with when her temper flared.

"Why, you did, silly." But with those words came a brief pause in the skirmish, and I could almost tangibly feel the tension diffusing as both girls dissolved into giggles.

"Oh, I guess you're right... I did. What on earth could I have been thinking?" It never ceased to amaze me how her moods could switch in an instant. One moment clearly furious, the next affable and lighthearted, she bounced between extremes as though it were second nature. Oh to be young and innocent...

"Hey Kenshin, you alright?" I caught a flash of white out of the corner of my eye and turned to regard Sanosuke. Physically he was the same as always -- The ends of the red ribbon tied across his brow fluttered behind him in the breeze, and his hands were tucked casually into the pockets of his white pants. The jacket sat easily on his broad shoulders, and I knew the symbol for "bad" would still be on his back.

"Yes. I was just listening to the girls in the kitchen," I explained as I leaned back up against the wall, smiling.

"And they're both still alive in there?" His eyes widened slightly in disbelief. "Maybe I ought to go and check..." But before he could take off in investigation, another burst of giggles floated lightly upwards though the air, signifying that all was fine in the realm of food-preparation.

"Actually, they seem to be doing well together." Of course, everything is relative, and I couldn't bring myself to contemplate the current state of lunch. Neither Megumi not Kaoru were particularly experienced in cooperation.

Beside me, Sano sank to the ground with a sigh. His mouth opened once but closed again as he apparently collected his thoughts, and I waited for him to speak. "Kenshin, there's something I overheard yesterday that I think you need to know --"

end of part 6

--

Note 1: Sorry if anyone's drifted out of character! If you're in  
any way confused, yes, the little middle section was a flashback.  
I haven't seen all the anime or read translations to all the  
manga, so if I've gotten anything wrong in respect to  
Kenshin's past, someone please clue me in to my mistakes.  
- Mir (10.11.2001)

Note 2: Not much to say here except that I can't believe I wrote  
two cliffhangers in a row. I must have been feeling particularly  
Machiavellian at the time. -- Mir (06.26.2008)  
.


	10. Part 7: For Hire

Title: Hanafubuki  
Part 7: For Hire

AN: Read the opening note if you'd like an explaination of the  
title (and why it's changed...). Sorry this has taken so long!  
I'm slow, I know. Ick, and now it's winter, and I'm cold as  
well. But hope you enjoy this part anyhow .

--  
_As events unfold  
Walk to the river again  
To stand in the rain_  
--

Part 7

"Something I need to know?" I squinted in concern as I waited for him to continue, a general feeling of unease settling in my stomach. Sanosuke, although a good decade younger than I, was an accomplished fighter, a loyal ally, and overall a true friend -- I trusted his opinions, and considering how worried he was over what he'd overheard, it was no doubt serious.

"Last night some friends and I were hanging out at the Akabeko." He reached over his folded legs to scoop up a handful of dirt then let it fall back down through his fingers. "It was getting late, and the place was emptying out, but there was still one table besides ours." He paused, and I could sense that he was thinking back over the scene with care.

"They were the same men who were there yesterday... when you left -- the very same men, but this time they had a kid with them." I could feel my heartbeat accelerating as he spoke, and as my mind anticipated his next words, my hands clenched into fists in my lap. "He couldn't have been more than thirteen or fourteen, but well... he carried himself as though he were at least twice that. Dark hair, you know, but streaked here and there with --"

"Sumire Shimizu."

Sanosuke glanced up sharply at my interjection, his eyes widening in surprise. "Euh, you know him?" He hesitated as if waiting for me to respond, but at my relapse into silence he shrugged and continued his account. "Yeah so, they were right next to us, and I couldn't help overhearing their conversation. The boy had the sense to keep his voice down, but the others were far too drunk to care whether anyone heard them or not..."

- - - - - - - - - -

"Do you have news of my father?" The boy stared intently at his two companions, dark eyes swallowing their own as he ground his teeth in determination. Empty bottles lay scattered across the table, but not a drop had passed his lips.

"Jiro? He's dead, I'm sure of it." The man reached forward to pour himself another round, but Sumire's hand angrily swatted the bottle away.

"You shouldn't use that name in public," he growled. "And how do you know for sure? What proof do you have?" His eyes darted to the left and right as if checking to see if anyone had overheard the name uttered by the older man across from him.

"You want proof? Here--" The second man pulled his hands into his sleeves, feeling around for something. "--is this proof enough for you?" A small golden hairpin fell onto the table, and even in the dim light there was no mistaking the object's identity.

"W-where did you get this?" As his voice wavered in surprise, Sumire's hand shot forward to claim the pin, his fingers tracing the familiar edges. "You have to tell me where you found this!" His tone was angry, insistent, almost frantic.

"Cool it, kid, we don't _have_ to tell you anything--" The first speaker held up a limp hand to wave off any protests "--but because your father was always good to us we'll help you out this one time. Just don't come running back to us later when you're scared shitless."

"Just tell me."

"The _Hitokiri Battousai_ dropped it on our table yesterday," the second speaker replied offhandedly, apparently unperturbed by the boy's stare. "Maybe he's the reason why you're father's gone missing.

- - - - - - - - - -

"That's all I heard before the boy managed to bully the others into lowering their voices." Sano shrugged apologetically, and my eyes traced down his shoulders and arms to his dust-covered hands, which he wiped against his pant legs. "But because they'd been talking about you and all, when they left, I trailed them out into the night. They split up after about a block, the men heading off one way and the boy in another."

"And you followed Sumire." It was more of a statement than a question. I could sense the direction in which the events were moving and knew from his tone of voice and avoidance of my eyes that the more critical matter had yet to come.

"How he knew where he was going I can only guess, but I followed him through the rougher parts of town to a small building where a man who... knows things lives."

- - - - - - - - - -

"...and what would you have me do if I can't beat my opponent?" the boy whispered tensely though clenched teeth. The light of a single lantern washed the room in dark shadows, and as the two figures sat cross-legged on the floor across from each other, silence hung uncomfortably around them. "I won't let my father's death go unanswered."

"I didn't say you should -- but if your opponent is as skilled as you insist he is, you'll have to hire real assistance, and that, as everything does, costs money." The speaker was thin but sturdy, past his prime but not yet gray and feeble. Straight hair was pulled back meticulously from his face, and although his dark jacket was patched and faded, it was clean and relatively well kept. His voice drawled languidly, meandering along the twisting roads of suggestion.

"I'll pay whatever it takes. I've no other goal than to avenge my father's death." Sumire, in contrast, leaned forward eagerly, fingers tapping lightly against the tatami mats beneath him as he stared into the other's lined face.

"You'll want to see Hitokiri Junzou then." As he mentioned the name, the older man's eyes unfocused, his mind drifting off toward some undefined point in the distance. Sumire ground his teeth in impatience.

"Err... Hitokiri Junzou? Who is he? Is he any good?"

The man, still gazing into the past, sighed. "Is he good? If I didn't know better I'd say you were a stranger to this city... only the name of the legendary Hitokiri Battousai strikes greater fear into the hearts of men--" His eyes narrowed slightly (as if possibly in satisfaction) at Sumire's reaction.

"--ah, I see you stiffen at _that_ name. Yes, I can see you are a man of the sword from the way you carry yourself, as was I in my better days. But even though Battousai disappeared at the end of the Bakumatsu, his name will live on forever in the annuals of time. No one can replace such a name as his, but if any man would try, if any man would have the audacity to think that he could waltz in step with the ghosts of legends, it would be Hitokiri Junzou."

"Enough, no more talk of history, of the Bakufu. Junzou-san, where can I find him?"

The other man narrowed his eyes, frowning, clearly skeptical that anyone would voluntarily want to find the hitokiri. "He lives by himself, moving often and hiding in the shadows, but I happen to know where he was last seen..."

"I'll pay you. What do you want?" Sumire began to reach for his purse, but the old man shook his head in negation.

"I want nothing -- seeing Battousai defeated at last will be payment enough." His eyes glowed red in the lamplight, latent ferocity rising once more from its buried depths, and Sumire's breath caught in his throat. _How had the man guessed the murderer was Battousai?_

- - - - - - - - - -

"The lantern burned well into the night, but I couldn't hear more than the occasional word, so eventually I left. But Kenshin, even if your kid hadn't heard of Junzou, I have, and he's-- " Sanosuke turned toward me again, brow creased in concern.

"--fairly skilled, yes, I know," I finished quietly. "He was a member of the Kyoto police during the Bakumatsu, a skilled swordsman though certainly not of a caliber with the leaders of the Shinsengumi... but the title is new addition within the last decade." My gaze followed the haphazard path of a white cherry petal as it floated up and down, tumbling in the breeze. "I wonder what he's been doing these past ten years."

"Gaining a reputation in the underworld, that's what. Stories of his slaughter circulate through the streets at night. Damn, Kenshin -- we're talking about the same guy, right?" He plucked a weed from the ground and proceeded to shred it into bits as he spoke, fingers tearing through the green leaves as his zanbatou had never been able to tear through Junzou's flesh.

"Before the revolution he was a ronin, a lordless samurai belonging neither to a feudal domain nor the Bakufu. Once the fighting began he supported the 'Union of Court and Camp' movement and thus was neutral, not endorsing either the Shogunate or the Imperialists over the other." I stared into space as the white cherry blossom petals continued to flutter gently from earth to sky, watching the scene before me but not seeing it. "Something must have happened early on in Kyoto, something that forced him to the Shogunate's side."

"Me, I don't see how anyone could have stayed neutral in Kyoto with everything going on as it did..." Beside me, Sanosuke's fingers curled into fists, the ragged bits of greenery staining his hands as his words slid out from between clenched teeth.

I wasn't certain how to respond, but I was saved by the irregular rhythm of approaching footsteps and a voice that cut easily though the encroaching silence. "Ooh, Sanosuke, here to mooch off another free meal, are you?"

"Euh, what kind of greeting's that, Jou-chan?" Momentarily forgetting his agitation, Sanosuke met the set of eyes staring down at him in accusation then quickly scrambled to his feet so that he stood head and shoulders above his 'opponent'. "No one'll ever visit you if give 'em that kind of welcome when they step through the gate."

"It's only you who gets the special treatment, Rooster-head." Complete with her characteristically smug grin, Megumi appeared at Kaoru's side, her hand held before her mouth as she giggled. "And no one else has an appetite as inhumanly large as yours."

"Anyhow--" Kaoru continued calmly as she stood her ground, arms akimbo, "-- I thought you didn't like my cooking." She was baiting him as always, and thus the familiar rounds of 'friendly' banter began anew.

"Now, now." From my seated position on the dojo step I lifted my eyes up hopefully toward the two of them, looking to avert another shouting match (fortunately there wasn't anything on hand that could easily become a projectile). "Something certainly smells delicious, that it does."

- - - - - - - - - -

"Yahiko, could you let Kaoru-dono know that I'm going out but will be back in time to fix dinner?" I stood besides him as he practiced with his shinai outside, and the sun, just beyond its zenith, soaked warmly into my and back shoulders.

"Sure..." he voice trailed off hesitantly as if he had questions on his mind but wasn't certain how to voice them. "...you say you'll be back for dinner?" He let his hand, loosely gripping the shinai fall to his side, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot as he looked up at me.

"Yes." The last time I'd passed through the dojo gate I'd been unarmed. The last time I'd walked through the wooden gate I'd returned running, paranoid of whom I'd become and whom I was becoming. And the last time I'd left by myself I'd returned with blood on my hands. Kaoru-dono -- I still hadn't told her the truth.

And so I left again, determined to prove to myself that I was still in control, determined to prove that I was not a slave to my sword and the past.

The roads were empty, and the dust from my sandals swirled in thick yellow clouds around my head. It hardly mattered where I was going, for I only needed to reassure my troubled mind, and I let the scenery blur as I paced onward.

I stopped when I could go no farther, stopped at the edge of the river. The water was quieter than I'd remembered it to be, less violent in its grip upon the half-submerged grasses. Beneath the surface lay a carpet of multicolored pebbles, and when I reached into the cold wetness, they slipped through my fingers, slick with mud.

So I sunk onto the thick log by the river's bank and rhythmically traced the marbled patterns of the rocks with muddy fingers. The dull grating sound of stone against stone proved soothing, lulling my mind into a transient moment of peacefulness.

The afternoon passed, and I didn't notice the weather shift until my vision blurred with dripping raindrops. The sun, having just recently dominated the vaulted sky, was smothered in pale gray storm clouds, clouds that looked too gentle and innocent to be crying. The rain was warm, a testament to the progression of spring, and I closed my eyes, losing myself in its light embrace.

"You'll get sick if you sit out here in the rain." She stood behind me, waxed paper umbrella in hand, soft smile indicating that her words were more of a greeting than a rebuke. Dark splotches of moisture speckled her kimono, and her socks, once white, were proof of her journey through the mud puddles.

"So will you." I slid down the rough log so that she could sit where I'd been, that area being marginally dryer than the rest, and I dropped the stones to the ground so that I could take the umbrella while she dried her hands.

"But I haven't already been sick..." She met my eyes as she used her sleeve to wipe the raindrops from her cheeks, "... and I don't have as much on my mind as you do." Ever since, ever since the last time I'd come to the river I'd felt transparent under her gaze. I looked away and sighed.

"You shouldn't have left Yahiko alone. When Sanosuke came by earlier he warned me of rumors concerning that boy from Yoshida-san's dojo, Sumire." I didn't know why I was angry, for if anything happened at the dojo it would be my fault for leaving it.

"I know. He told us as well... but Kenshin, I don't care if you think you're protecting us, you shouldn't always be secretive about everything." Her hands closed over mine as I gripped the umbrella, knuckles white. "We just want to help."

"And what if there's nothing you can do to help?" The words spilled out between us before I could stop them. "Do you want me to tell you everything, every detail of the nights and days of Kyoto, every detail of the bodies that lined the streets? How would that help anything?" I clenched my teeth together, determined to halt the barrage, but to no avail. "You've been wondering about the other night, haven't you? You all have. Do you really want to know what happened?"

I withdrew my hand from the umbrella so quickly that she had to fumble to keep it from falling to the ground. "You see the water here?" I waded into the river, and the rushing water gripped my ankles, urging me in further. "It's moving, always in constant motion. Never in two moments is a drop in the same place, but as a whole entity it remembers, remembers everything. Half a week ago I killed a man here, Kaoru. Do you see how the river enfolds me in its arms, claims me as its own? Do you think it has forgotten so quickly?"

I was up to my waist, sandals sinking into the soft mud, and I couldn't tell whether the wetness on her cheeks was tears or raindrops. "Do you know why Sumire has hired an assassin to hunt me down? It's because his father will never again feel the sun's warmth. He died here, Kaoru, died by my hand." I was beyond caring what I said, was barely even hearing the words as my lips formed them, not believing that I was saying them.

And then she was beside me, catching me before I collapsed into the water, umbrella discarded upon the shore. Halfheartedly I tried to push her away, tried to unwrap her arms from around my waist. "Shhhh..." Her body was warm as she coaxed me back toward the shore, warm as we both sank into the mud on its bank. "Yes, it does help, don't you see?" She reached behind her for the dripping umbrella and unfolded it above our heads. "It helps because we're you're friends, and we care what happens to you."

She brushed the hair from my eyes with as much determination in her fingers as was in her voice. "We're all together, no matter what." And as we sat side by side listening to the gentle impact of rain against ground and water, I found myself leaning against her bright warmness, drawing upon her comfort as I tried to drag my mind back from the abyss of madness. Every time I took a step forward it seemed as though I took another one back as well.

Footsteps. "Two lovebirds in the rain, euh? Looks like I'm going to have to ruffle some feathers, aren't I?"

end of part 7

--

Note 1: Ack, I'm sorry if the parts have seemed a little slow lately.  
I promise there's more action coming up... but I needed to do  
some plot-building, and I hope the dialogue/flashbacks weren't  
too boring/confusing. In case you're wondering, "Junzou" is  
written with two kanji, the first meaning a "peragrine falcon"  
and the second being the kanji for "three." I'm not quite sure  
how the two come together to mean anything -- but I came  
across the name and liked it, so who cares . -- Mir (11.11.01)

Note 2: I wonder why 'bad guys' always end up with the worst  
(and by worst I mean cheesiest lines?). Poor Sumire, I don't know  
if I can actually picture him saying it... and at the same time I  
couldn't bring myself to simply edit it out. So it remains. Anyhow,  
another edit, another cliffhanger. I'm starting to write the next  
new chapter, so hopefully I'll have it completed by the time I  
finish edit the existing chapters. Somewhere in the past seven  
years I've lost the plot outline to this story, so I'm not sure how  
it was originally supposed to end. I'll have to think of something  
in the next few weeks... -- Mir (06.27.2008)  
.


	11. Part 8: Descent

Title: Hanafubuki  
Part 9: Descent

AN: Sorry for the not-so-short hiatus. Life's been busy, and  
I've been working on "Divergence" and redesigning TFME.  
Hope you all had a great holiday season. As usual, it was way  
too sort for my tastes. Anyway, here's the eighth part...

--  
_Side by side we sit  
Our rapid heartbeats mingle  
Waiting in darkness_  
--

Part 8

Sumire stood with the rushing river waters behind him, heavy drops of rain dripping from his hair and clothes, a sword at his left side. His hands were clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms, and his cheeks were flushed with anger, eyes blood-shot from lack of sleep. "You'd better enjoy yourself, Battousai… Your days are numbered."

"Stay back. Don't come any closer!" The stern voice in my ear was Kaoru's. I pulled my gaze up from the sodden ground as cold rain suddenly pelted down upon us. She had folded the umbrella and extended it before her bokken-style, the blunted top pointed steadily at Sumire's throat.

"What do you want, Sumire-kun?"

At my question, surprise flickered briefly across his features, but he shook his head as if to clear the water from his eyes and calculating hatred pushed aside that brief flash of innocence . "Revenge, Battousai. I want to avenge my father's death." His voice, low and flat, was steady, and the eyes that met mine were mature beyond his years.

"You have no right to come out here and-- "

"Kaoru-dono." My hand closed around the middle of the umbrella as I pressed to my feet, fingers gently prying it from her grip. "You have no need to fear Sumire-kun. No one will fight today." My eyes never left his as we faced each other in the mud, the wind blowing hair into our eyes and driving the rain into our skin.

"You may be perceptive, Battousai, but understanding alone won't save you from Hell. The hunting bird strikes from above, plummeting from the sky with unmatched speed, and when the moment comes you won't have time to blink."

He held my gaze a second longer before turning sharply and retreating back the way he'd come. Shoulders squared firmly in defiance of the wind and rain, he disappeared into the gray haze, nothing more than a fading shadow beneath the passing clouds.

Beside me Kaoru sighed. "Kenshin... we need to talk."

- - - - - - - - - -

"We," as it turned out, expanded to include Yahiko as well as Megumi and Sanosuke, for they were waiting for us at the dojo, arguing (as usual) over warm cups of tea. The rain had beaten heavily on the cherry blossoms, and we left a trail of trodden pedals behind us as we crossed the yard -- bleeding casualties of the storm.

Later, once again in dry clothing, we stared across at each other as the steam rose from our cups, no one wanting to be the first to speak. The rain had picked up again, beating rhythmically on the roof over head and sliding down the ceramic tiles to join the puddles below.

"We can't just sit here! We need to decide what to do." I could tell he was tired of waiting, tired of doing nothing but avoiding each others' eyes, and silently I thanked Yahiko for his youthful impatience, for he had given me the perfect opening.

"There's no need for everyone to become involved." Four pairs of eyes narrowed, four jaws tightened in determination, and four friends unsuccessfully tried to suppress sighs of exasperation. I knew I was fighting a losing battle, one I could never hope to win, but nonetheless I had to try, if only because it was expected. "I can--"

"-- Don't even think about doing this alone--"

"-- We're your friends, and we won't let you--"

"-- C'mon, you can't just brush us off like we're--"

"-- Ken-san, please, just use your thick head for once-- "

They hadn't even let me finish my sentence. Of course I knew it was going to be like this. I had somehow allowed myself to form attachments, allowed those around me to inch closer and closer until, whether I liked it or now, we stood side by side together.

After the last battles of the revolution I'd traveled across the countryside, only resting at each location long enough to catch my breath, quickly continuing on whenever anyone came too close. But now, I no longer walked alone. And to my surprise, I realized that I didn't mind the company.

"All right then, I see we're in this together." I smiled, somewhat hesitantly, meeting each set of eyes in turn. "But there's nothing to be gained from staying up all night. I suggest we go to bed and reconvene tomorrow morning."

Kaoru silenced Yahiko's protests with a stern glare, and Sanosuke, with a shrug, turned to Megumi and murmured, "Sure, whatever you say, Kenshin. C'mon Fox, it's dark; I'll walk you home." I watched as his jaunty smirk began to fade and his brow crease in annoyance when Megumi just stared back at him. "Hey, the least you can do is respond when someone speaks to you!" It seemed as though, on the surface at least, things were back to normal at the Kamiya Dojo.

- - - - - - - - - -

It's odd how sensitive we become to the weather, how our thoughts are influenced by the ever-changing cycles of nature. The following morning was simply beautiful. I crept outside onto the porch dusted pink and white in the post-dawn light. I'd memorized the route long ago to avoid the particularly noise floorboards. The birds chirped their random harmony, and I inhaled the deeply again and again.

Mornings, for as long as I could remember, had represented the innocence lost all those many years ago. In Kyoto, when I'd return to the inn, stained with blood and jumping nervously at each drifting shadow, it was the gentle wash of sunlight that delivered me from each hellish nightmare. I lived each night relying on the assurance that morning would eventually come.

And it had. At end of the Boshin War and the dawning of the Meiji Era I'd left Katsura and the others and set off alone to atone for the horrors of the preceding night. But the darkness clung stubbornly -- Innocence lost can never truly be regained.

I stretched, reaching high above my head, pressing my hands upward -- and received only a moderate twinge from my shoulder, a marked improvement from a few days ago. The stiffness would fade, of course, and I silently thanked Megumi for her expert care. In Kyoto, mostly, I'd ended up fending for myself.

"You're up early, aren't you?" Sanosuke stood at the gate, one hand resting against the weathered wood, tattered ribbon fluttering behind him in the breeze. Amusement played in his eyes as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and made his way to the porch, carefully avoiding the thick patches of viscous mud.

"I could say the same for you." I didn't need to ask why he'd come; although he smiled and teased, the stiffness in his gait betrayed his anxiety. He threw me a classic smirk in response to my retort, and, standing on the ground before the porch, he was almost as tall as I was.

"Euh, Kenshin, grew a bit last night, didn't ya?" He teased, seeing the humor in the moment.

"It would seem so, wouldn't it...?" I ran a hand through my hair, smiling at the absurdity of the conversation. I could always count on Sano for comic relief when it was needed most. "...Spring is the season of growth, you know."

And he laughed as he leaned back against the wooden post. "Kenshin, you're going to make one hell of a silly old man, I tell you. I'll have to warn all the kids not to believe a word you say." Although his tone was mocking, I easily read his implied message as a warning, a warning that I'd better not do anything stupid, and I sighed.

"Better a silly old man than a bitter, grumpy one like you'll be." The sun had risen above the dojo walls, casting its light through the new spring leaves of the cherry trees and burning away the morning dew. We could both clearly hear the phrase left unsaid between us: 'better a silly old man than a young dead one'.

"Is Jou-chan up yet?" He laughed as I remained silent, shaking his head in realization. "Oh right, silly question..." There was a slight pause, a brief moment of expectant silence. "Euh, so Kenshin, how about breakfast?" _Classic Sanosuke_.

- - - - - - - - - - -

As often happens , the morning progressed into midday, and with the steady movement of the sun overhead, we all began to sink into the ritual pattern of tense moping that had, over the past few days, become habitual. The dew had long since evaporated and with it the somewhat-magical serenity of early morning had vanished.

Out in the yard with my sleeves tied out the way behind me, I could feel her eyes following my every move as I hung the clean laundry up to dry. She sat on the porch beside Gensai-sensei, her fingers tracing the floral patterns of her kimono as she chewed absently on her lower lip.

"There now, Kaoru-dono, there's nothing quite like clean laundry..." I brushed the hair from my eyes as I turned to face her with Ayame and Suzume glued to my hakama like barnacles to the underside of a fishing boat. And she silently returned my gaze, lips pressed together, brow furrowed. She knew me too well, and her sight easily penetrated through my lackluster _rurouni_ act.

"If you're finished... perhaps we could go shopping together -- just to get out for a bit -- we could pick up the tofu on the way back." Her tone was hopeful, and her eyes begged my approval, but she needn't have worried. She wasn't alone in her restlessness. The air was heavy with anticipation, and every second that passed seemed like an eon of tortured waiting. Our thoughts swirled round in nervous circles, focused on the "what if's" and the "could be's." We had to get away.

"Good idea. I'll tidy up inside. Why don't you collect Yahiko and Sanosuke... and Gensai-sensei--"

"--I'd actually better be getting back to the clinic. I'm sure Megumi is doing just fine, but... " He smiled, thoughtfully stroking his beard, and the sunlight, scattered by his white hair, swept across the freshly-polished porch.

And so, five minutes later, we all gathered at the dojo gate to split and travel in two directions. Yahiko, uncharacteristically reserved, adjusted his shinai strapped across his back as he walked, a certain resolution in his step and determination in his eyes. Sanosuke followed behind him, hands still in his pockets and a slight smile of amusement playing at his mouth.

"Feh, Yahiko, we're just going shopping. It's not like we're invading China or anything. Loosen up a bit, will ya?" It was a comment directed at us all, a (surprisingly tactful) reminder not to drown ourselves in worry. So we waved as Gensai-sensei and the girls walked hand in hand down the empty street, disappearing into the distance.

"So Busu, what did you want to buy anyway?" Yahiko had run ahead of us, but he circled back to bug Kaoru who was walking beside me. As our hands had brushed by accident, I'd felt my cheeks redden in memory of our recent time together, of her protectiveness, of the warmth of her embrace as the rain drenched us. She'd glanced up at the light contact, and somehow her fingers had tightened around mine, pulling us closer.

"I... I though..." But she was caught off-guard by Yahiko's inquiry. "... thought that we might need a new pot for the kitchen -- but you really shouldn't pry into other people's business!" She glared at him, a hint of playfulness returning to her eyes, and Yahiko laughed, rising to the challenge.

"A new pot -- yeah right, like I'm really going to let you buy something else to throw at my head. C'mon, try again." The silence had been broken, and as the air once again rang with insults and half-shouted threats, I let myself fall a few paces behind the others so I could watch their ritual antics. Somehow Sano had been roped into the friendly altercation as well, on Kaoru-dono's side this time, it seemed. He grabbed Yahiko by the collar and hoisted him into the air -- then released him with a yelp as the boy's flailing limbs connected with more sensitive anatomy.

_Family_. It was a word I'd shied away from using, even in my own thoughts. Both of my families had been destroyed, ripped apart by the blind destruction of plague and steel. The universe mirrors itself in good and evil, in fortune and misfortune, in happiness and sadness, in life and death. Nothing stands alone. To have one half, you must accept the other as well. And I stood in the street, which was unusually quiet for midmorning, and closed my eyes for just a moment, inhaling the warm spring air with hands pulled into my gi.

"Don't move." The terse whisper cut through my thoughts, but before I could react, strong arms wrapped around me from behind, one hand pressing the side of a dagger against my left shoulder, the other clamping a moist cloth over my nose and mouth.

Ignoring the knife that cut through fabric and bandages, I reached for my sword, aiming to connect with my attacker behind me with the sheath while I held my breath. But I exhaled sharply as something hard slammed into my side and gasped instinctively for air before I could stop myself. As the sharp scent of chemicals flooded my throat and lungs, my vision blurred, and my legs began to fold beneath me.

Moving with what seemed to be agonizing slowness, my fingers closed around the sakabatou's hilt, and I thrust backward even as I gasped again for air. But the arms didn't loosen their hold, and the blurred scene before me quickly faded into darkness.

- - - - - - - - - -

I awoke to the sound of voices, too soft to be in the same room as me but nonetheless close by. "...why didn't you just kill him? Why did you have to bring him back here?"

"There's no honor in sneaking up behind people with knives... and no fun in it either." In the slight pause that followed I cautiously opened my eyes -- and found that I could barely see anything as the room was draped with the dark hues of twilight. The first speaker was unmistakably Sumire-kun. It was easy to recognize his boyish cadence and nervous fidgeting. But the second... "You paid me to do a job, and I will -- in due time."

"Yes, of course, I know... but how can you just sit here drinking your tea when _he's_ there in the other room? How can you--"

"Kid, if you're so intent on killing him, why don't you just do it yourself. As you said, he's lying unconscious over there." All was quiet for a moment. Even Sumire was still, and although I couldn't recognize the speaker's voice, I knew from context that it had to be Junzou. "Look kid, I don't know what goes on in that funny head of yours, but let me tell you that there's no satisfaction in killing people while they're sleeping. Just let me handle this, and everything'll be fine."

As my eyes adjusted themselves to the darkness, I began to reach for my sword, only to discover that my arms had been bound tightly behind my back. I was lying on my stomach on a futon in the corner of a second-story room. My ankles, too, were tied together, but I bent my knees into my chest as I rolled onto my side, swallowing hard as the urge to vomit gripped my stomach. I tried to ignore the pain in my shoulder and blood seeping from torn stitches and instead concentrated again on the nearby voices.

"... but why's he still unconscious? He's been here for hours already. What did you give him?" Sumire, ever inquisitive, was pressing Junzou for answers, and although I already had my own suspicions, I too listened closely for his response.

"I'm no chemist, so I can't tell you the proper name, but it's something my friend cooked up for me the other day. I couldn't very well have had Battousai yelling and fighting me as I brought him here, could I? It's effective all right. A couple good breaths will put you right out, but short of testing it myself, there's no way to gauge its strength. Western science is amazing, for sure, but it's damn unpredictable."

Not finding anything interesting to look at, I closed my eyes again and began to test the ropes for looseness and strength. I had to get back to the dojo to protect the others, had to let Kaoru know that I was fine. But the ropes had been tied skillfully so that they wouldn't slide off, and feeling somewhat discouraged, I clenched my teeth together in irritation. If he'd wanted a fight he should have just sought me out and asked for one!

"... but you still haven't told me why you brought him here. Why didn't you just --"

"'Why didn't I just challenge him and finish him off right there in the street, you mean?" There was a brief pause as Junzou, I assume, collected his thought and chose his words. "In Kyoto, everyone killed each other for survival. If you didn't kill, you were killed -- but how monotonous it became! The thrill of battle lasted only moments, and most of the men were already half-ghosts, emotionless shells incapable of seeing beyond the ends of their blades."

His words, although colored by personal interpretation, were to some extent true, and like Sumire, I silently waited for him to continue. "The real satisfaction comes from toying with the opponent, making him believe what you want him to believe. Don't worry kid, in the end, you'll have your revenge."

end of part 8

--

Note 1: sigh It's been too long, hadn't it? I appologize for my slowness.  
I finished the second part to "Divergence" then began working on a new  
piece -- but realize that what I really need to do was finish my half-completed  
8th part to "Hanafubuki." I'm thinking about breaking with the time line and  
pulling Saitou into this piece... he's a great character, and he fits with a plot.  
Let me know what you think -- Mir (01.02.2002)

Note 2: I'm definitely making headway on writing the next chapter (meaning  
the first new chapter that will pick up where I left off in 2002), and I'm still  
aiming to finish it about the time I finish revising the existing chapters. I've  
actually learned a decent amount about Edo and Japanese history in the past  
years, and I'm trying to incorporate some historical accuracy into the new part.  
I hope it doesn't turn out too boring in the end. -- Mir (07.09.2008)  
.


	12. Part 9: Enter the Wolf

Title: Hanafubuki  
Part 9: Enter the Wolf

AN: I've begun the process of going back and revising the  
previous chapters because there are some parts that honestly  
need work. This new part is written in the third person because  
I need to fill in what's happening with the Kenshin-gumi while  
our red-haired hero is held captive. This part features a  
character promised at the end of the previous chapter -- even  
though he doesn't really fit in with the approximate time line  
(between the Tokyo and Kyoto arcs). Enjoy!

* * *

Pleas fall to deaf ears  
Dark windows reveal nothing  
And we meet again

* * *

Part 9

From the length of the shadows cast across the empty yard, it was clear that dusk had begun to blanket the Tokyo skyline, but at the Kamiya Dojo, neither dinner preparations nor playful banter were evident to mark the evening's arrival. No welcoming light shone from the darkened windows, and the gate remained firmly latched against intrusion. There was no mistaking the facts -- the dojo was empty.

"When I said he disappeared, I meant he just disappeared!" Kaoru stood her ground indignantly before the police officer, her ponytail trembling with both worry and indignation. "You don't think I'm lying, do you?" Beside her, Yahiko stared intently across the wooden desk, failing miserably to look intimidating. Sanosuke, glaring distrustfully with his shoulder against the far wall, was diligently engaged in the fine art of knuckle-cracking and, consequently, was no help at all.

They had arrived at the police station two hours earlier -- after discovering that their fourth companion was no longer behind them. He'd disappeared somewhere between the teashop and the flower vendor... and despite exhaustive searching, he was nowhere to be found. Had the decision been Yahiko's, the remaining trio would have returned to the dojo and trusted Kenshin to get himself home, but his views were silenced by stern glares and firm resolution as Kaoru set off for the police station while dragging her reluctant companions in tow.

As was often the case, they had no sooner arrived and presented their predicament then they were whisked off into the tangled web of government bureaucracy. No amount of name-dropping, pleading, or threatening dire consequences could win them an immediate audience -- and so they grumbled to themselves and paced the empty hallways, biding their time until at last (two hours later) they were belatedly invited to seek assistance.

"I'm filing a missing person report. Can't you do anything about it?" Kaoru slammed her palms down against the desk, her cheeks flushed red and eyes flashing in indignation. In the retreating sunlight she looked almost half-demon, half-human -- and the officer seated safely behind the flat wooden expanse jerked his head up in surprise.

His hair, cropped short and parted immaculately above his left temple, lay close to his head, and each of his brass buttons had been polished so brightly that it caught the dying rays of sunlight and spun them back into the far corners of his spartan office. He leaned tiredly on his right elbow and stifled a yawn. "I'm not saying you're lying, Miss, but I do know that men don't just disappear in the middle of the street, at not any men I know of."

"Do you even know who Himura Kenshin is?" Unable to restrain himself any longer in the presence of such stupidity, Yahiko glowered at the officer as he spat the question from perused lips. "He's not the kind of man who'd just fall into a ditch or something. If he's still missing, it means that something's seriously wrong!"

"Please, can't you send out a search party or anything?" Choosing to ignore the vehement outburst beside her, Kaoru again turned beseeching eyes upon her audience, trying pity on for size when it was clear that force and intimidation were failing to achieve results.

"Look Miss," the man responded none too gently, "I can't do anything until you present me with some solid, undeniable information about your companion's possible whereabouts. Until then, there's nothing I can do." He stared down his nose at the trio and sought to demonstrate his superiority by smoothing invisible creases from his uniform. His guests, to say the least, were not impressed.

"You lazy Meiji pigs can't get anything done, can you? If we knew where he was, we won't be here, would we?" The question, although muttered under the speaker's breath, was clearly audible, and Sanosuke raised his gaze unabashedly to meet the officer's. "You sit around all day spending money that isn't yours and blaming others for your troubles..." He shoved his hands into pockets and sighed. "C'mon Jo-chan, there's nothing to be done here. Let's go already."

But before either the kenjutsu assistant master or policeman could respond, the soft sound of steadily approaching footsteps in the hallway caught their attention, and all eyes shifted to the open doorway. The man whose silhouette fell across the floor was tall and well-built, muscular but not heavy-boned. He carried himself with a measure of unshakable confidence, and when he turned his head to regard the proceedings before him with distain, his deeply penetrating gaze sent shivers tingling up and down each person's spine in turn.

"What was that again... rooster-head?" The uniformed newcomer paused in the doorway, and as he stepped forward toward the others, there was no mistaking the long sheath of a traditional Japanese sword at his left hip. "We're lazy pigs, are we?" His words, although issued as a challenge, held neither hot-tempered aggression nor impatient belligerence.

"Ineffective morons who can't tell their heads from their --"

"Sanosuke." Kaoru closed the distance between them and tugged firmly at his sleeve. Although just as frustrated as he at the blatant lack of police response, she was growing somewhat alarmed by his increasing tactlessness. After all, they had come to the station to initiate a search -- not to be arrested themselves. "Don't mind him, Sir." She threw the sword-carrying officer a smile dripping with forced-levity. "He doesn't really mean what he says."

"I damn well mean exactly what I say, and --"

"I'm well aware of _Zanza's_ dissatisfaction with the Meiji government. And if I'd wanted to arrest him I would have done so the moment he appeared at the station." Although he remained outside the room, the officer's stance suggested that he wasn't planning on moving on any time soon. He folded his arms deliberately across his chest. "Now, would you, in as few words as possible, explain exactly why you're here and what you want from us?"

- - - - - - - - -

Almost an hour later the trio found themselves trudging back toward the dojo empty-handed and muttering expletives while they shook their heads in resentment and disbelief. He had listened to them, listened and then led them on -- but all the while promising nothing. Then he'd turned them back out onto the street with the all-too-rational excuse that nothing could be accomplished until daylight returned.

'You don't realize, do you, just how many buildings are in this city. Even if you could narrow the search down to a quarter or neighborhood, you can't just break into private residences at night.' The man who'd given his name as Fujita Goro took a long drag on his cigarette and leaned against the wall. 'By this time he could be well on his way to Kamakura or Yokohama.'

They waited quietly outside the gate as Kaoru fumbled around for the key, then entered... hoping against hope that they'd hear a cheerful welcome from within. But inside, the walls were silent and the windows dark. Eventually the trio made an half-hearted effort to fix dinner but only picked listlessly at the food in silence. There was nothing to be said and nothing to be done beside go to bed and wait for the morning.

And so Kaoru lay staring at the ceiling in a room washed in moonlight. The night, as if to mock her restlessness, was warm and clear --perfect for viewing the cherry blossoms side by side with those held dear -- but she was alone, and the room's emptiness seemed to stretch outward for miles. She strained her ears in the semidarkness, listening intently for light footsteps or the soft swish of a shoji being slid aside, but the only reward for her trouble was the harsh call of a lone crow raising its beak to the distant sky.

Then as if in answer to her silent pleas, her fervent hopes, the floor creaked. Once. She held her breath, eyes open wide, heart suddenly racing -- had she only imagined it? Twice. Her muscles tensed, and she threw the blanket aside. But in an instant, caution overrode instinct, and she paused with her legs drawn underneath her, shallow breaths passing in an out through parted lips. Three times.

Even as she rose and slowly slipped out into the hallway her mind unconsciously analyzed the sounds, drawing comparisons from previous experience. She inhaled sharply and quickly covered her mouth to disguise the sound. At the end of the hall with his trademark white jacket and moonlight running in streams down his hair and back stood Sanosuke. Carefully, almost delicately, he took another step forward. Creak.

Surprise gave way to disappointment, which in turn gave way to frustration. Where did he think he was going at this time of the night? She was about to call to him, to accuse him of desertion, when curiosity got the better of her. Having had substantial opportunity in the past to practice moving silently about the dojo, Kaoru quickly dressed and slipped out behind him into the night.

- - - - - - - - - -

Once free of the confining walls, he set out briskly across the city, covering the distance in huge, determined strides. Sanosuke Sagara had little tolerance for passive inaction, and if no one else would take the initiative to see the job done right, he had no other option than to take on the entirety of the investigation himself.

He slowed as he approached the streets they'd walked along earlier that day and began to cast his senses outward for any hint, any clue that might lead to there whereabouts of his friend. Under normal circumstances he wouldn't worry… after all Kenshin (of all people) could take care of himself, but with Junzou and Sumire out for blood, he couldn't help shake the queasy suspicion that settled in his stomach and colored every thought with overtones of dread.

The dirt beneath his feet seemed to offer little to alleviate his fears. The constant flow of pedestrians had long-since destroyed any footprints that might have belonged to Kenshin. Still, he crouched down and ran his hands through the dust and gravel. It fell through his fingers almost like water, slippery and elusive. And so, after straightening back to his full height and rubbing his hands down the sides of his pants, Sanosuke stood alone in the middle of the deserted street wanting to turn inaction into action but not knowing how to begin.

"I should have known you wouldn't stay at home like I told you to." The cool reprimand shattered the silence, and a dark blue shadow pulled away from the nearly buildings. The police officer, in contrast to his casual pose, frowned in irritation. "The world seems to be filled with idiots and fools."

"And just what do you think you're doing here, Fujita?" Disguising his surprise with assumed belligerence, Sanosuke faced the older man with feet planted firmly and hands clenched into fists. "If you're double-crossing us, I'll --" As he advanced toward his adversary a low growl rumbled from his throat, and his eyes narrowed with anger and suspicion.

But if anything, the police officer appeared to be more amused than intimidated. "-- You'll do what exactly?" He regarded the seething street fighter with almost clinical indifference, his eyes taking note of details that half a dozen other men together would overlook. "Some thanks you give me for coming out here at night on your behalf."

"On _my_ behalf?" Sanosuke halted his approach less than an arms length away from Fujita. "Now wait a second -- did I ask you to drag your sorry butt out here tonight? You're the one who told us to wait until morning!" His voice rose in volume, and he shook a fist at the other man's nose, but the officer didn't even flinch.

On the contrary, he smiled. "My point exactly." And with all the grace of a dancing heron he sidestepped to the right (out of range), reached into his pocket, and placed a cigarette between his lips. "You're messing up the evidence, idiot…" A thin line of smoke rose into the night. "…and you can tell the girl that there's no need to hide anymore. You'd both benefit from listening closely."

At the invitation Kaoru stepped reluctantly into the moonlight, bokken in one hand and frown spreading across her face. She had been pleased that she'd been able to track Sanosuke across the city undetected, but Fujita Goro was clearly more astute than the ordinary police officer. 'So I'm just _the girl_ now, am I? I'll show him….'

"It's clear that there was no swordfight, no shedding of blood here today." He paused for a moment to assure that his audience was paying close attention. "Battousai's technique is based first and foremost on the speed of his attacks and their flawless execution. Any landing of his on this road would have created a substantial cloud of dust that would have settled on nearby plants and buildings. You'll also notice a lack of grooves or depressions in the road. If Himura was taken by force, the act was executed rapidly and with careful planning."

Taken aback at the casual mention of Kenshin's two identities side by side, Kaoru stared dumbly at the ground for a moment before reaching out and firmly gripping Sano's arm to prevent him from doing anything unduly rash. "You know Kenshin somehow. You knew him during the Bakumatsu." She stated the conclusion without emotion, her face white as snow. "Were you friends… or enemies?"

And to the accusation, the man, known to some as the Wolf of Mibu, took another drag on his cigarette and shrugged. "We crossed swords more than once in the past, but he's not even worth my time as he is now." He glanced up to the sky as if check the alignment of the stars. "Tonight I'm not your enemy. I'm just doing my job."

- - - - - - - - - -

Gripped by insomnia, Yahiko crawled from his futon, stretched, and tiptoed out into the hallway -- only to find the dojo empty, deserted. Kaoru's blanket lay twisted on the floor as if she'd thrown it down and run from the room. Sanosuke's futon remained folded against the wall – he hadn't even tried to sleep. 'Who do they think they are that they can just go off in the middle of the night and leave me here alone?'

He stood on the porch looking out across the courtyard, hands on his hips. The pale moonlight cast eerie shadows amongst the branches of trees and transformed familiar objects into indistinguishable gray blurs. He ground his teeth together in frustration. 'I care just as much about Kenshin as they do!' Restlessly he paced back and forth across the smoothly polished wooden slats (his work, of course).

'I don't know where they've gone… or even if they left together.' He glanced down hoping for something to kick, but there was nothing, not even dust underfoot, so he gripped his shinai in both hands and swung it down over his head betraying his pent-up annoyance and not caring in the least about the finesse of his technique. Expletives that a mind as young as his shouldn't be fluent in formed on his lips, and once more he slashed viscously thought the air. 'Shit.'

He was halfway across the courtyard before he registered that he was moving, and it was only after touching the gate that he turned to glance back the way he'd come. If he hadn't known better he would have thought that everyone was sleeping contently inside; there was no physical indication that anything was amiss. But the critical moment of hesitation passed, and in a moment he, too, opened the gate and sprinted out into the darkness.

end of part 9

* * *

Sorry for the extended pause. There's honestly way too much  
going on in my life right now. Heh, you're luck to be be getting  
this before spring . I've working on the next parts of  
"Divergence" and "Ikedaya" simultaneously, so I'm not sure  
which will be out first, but both are solidly in the works. I'm also  
experimenting with a short Sano & Megumi one-shot, something  
completely different from my usual! --Mir (02.21.2002)

I'm making progress on the next new chapter and am on-track  
to completing it about the same time I finish editing these older  
chapters. However, I just realized that I've left Kenshin, Sano,  
Saito, and Yahiko hanging in the middle of the night... so I'll have  
to find a way to pick up with this part of the storyline instead of  
continuing along exclusively Kenshin's perspective. Ah, details,  
details... -- Mir (07.29.2008)

.


	13. Part 10: Spring Snow

Title: Hanafubuki  
Part 10: Spring Snow

AN: I admit that this fic has taken a darker turn... perhaps I've  
been watching too much Lain lately? shrugs I can't quite  
believe I've made it to part 10 already. Thanks to MKasshoku  
who motivates me with her questions and plot predictions and  
to everyone who's reviewed this piece at

--  
Beyond the twilight  
Embraced by the winds of spring  
The spirit endures  
--

Part 10

"You're the perfect bait, Himura-san." Junzou crouched beside me, one hand resting casually by my head on the stained futon and the other caressing the hilt of his sword. "You're the perfect bait because that girl clearly cares for you but also assumes you're capable of taking care of yourself." He stared out the open window, eyes following the movement of something beyond my field of vision.

"Still, I expect she's smarter than she looks." The corner of his mouth twitched as he spoke, and his lip curled upward in the barest hint of a smile. "Ah yes Himura-san, the events begin to unfold, and I suspect you'll prove more interesting than any challenge I've had in years. You know, it's difficult to break a man, to tear down layer after layer of self-defense until all that's left is an empty shell of insanity and raw emotion -- but there's nothing in this world like the feeling afterwards."

The hitokiri's fingers tightly curled around the futon's frayed edge, and his shoulders tensed as he inhaled deeply. I held my tongue as he sat beside me in silence and could think of nothing to say to diffuse the tension, nothing to divert the driven mind of the madman at my side.

He leaned forward, and his pungent breath was warm and moist by my face. "She'll already be looking for you." Slowly, he raised his hand into the air, fingers unclenching one by one as they brushed past my ear. "Last night, alone, in the dark..." I turned away from his touch, shivering at the sudden coldness against my skin. "...she'll have thought of you, would have stared at the ceiling all alone in the dark." Two fingers, like shards of ice traced down my left cheek deliberately from eye to chin. "What do you suppose she'll give me in exchange for a promise of your safety?" His nails dug into my skin.

I strained against the ropes binding my arms and legs and ground my teeth together in outright frustration. "Leave her alone. You've no reason to touch her." I didn't want to look at him, didn't want to see the smug expression creeping across his face, but reluctantly my gaze met his, and once our eyes locked, it was impossible to look away.

"I've no reason?" He nodded slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching again. "But it's so much better when the women are involved, isn't it? And of course I've reason enough." His voice, the lightest of whispers, trailed off into silence, but the words left unsaid between us flashed vividly in my mind. '_How many people have you killed, Battousai? Men, women, children, grandparents, warrior, wife, deserving, innocent? How many lives have you cut short with only the pale moon and unfeeling stars for witnesses? You'll always be a killer; even now you reek of blood._'

The refrain was one I'd heard countless times over the past decade. It ran in circles around my mind, droning onward like the monotonous hum of late summer cicadas. '_She sees beyond appearances, learns from the past but looks to the future, judges not on words but on actions..._' I wanted to shout in her defense, but Junzou breathed not a word, and I too held my tongue.

"You're familiar with the feeling of steel against flesh," he muttered more as of a statement than a question as he finally pulled his hand away. "Do you remember how it feels when your blade slices though your enemy without resistance?" He drew a small dagger from his sleeve as he spoke and pressed it lightly against his left thumb. "You remember the smell of blood? The intoxicating, maddening scent that overwhelms any semblance of reason..." Unable to pull my gaze away, I watched the bright red droplets ooze down his palm. "It stains the soul indelibly."

Again I turned away from his touch, closing my eyes as his thumb brushed across my cheek, down my nose, over my eyelids. "Junzou..." the sound, a low growl, slipped from my lips, and I forced my hands to unclench and reminded myself to breathe.

We both felt his entrance. _Sumire_. And without glancing up I knew he was standing in the doorway -- downcast eyes veiled by the hair that fell across his face. He pulled his hands into his sleeves and shifted restlessly from foot to foot. And for a passing moment we were three actors walking out our roles onstage, three men holding masts before our faces and staring blankly at an invisible audience.

"So you've finally come to see our guest." Junzou rose gracefully to his feet, ignoring the blood that still dripped from his palm. "I assume you've met before... No?" He smiled, a dark parody of the usual expression. "Then allow me to do the introductions."

"We've met." The interjection sliced through the artificial levity like a knife through water, but Sumire lingered in the doorway as if afraid to venture closer. Despite the surrealism of the situation, the awkwardness of looking up at him from the floor though lashes matted with another's blood, I nodded in greeting -- and wondered what role he was to play in the developing course of events. '_He's very much like Yahiko in some ways... but his pride and drive for revenge have landed him in deeper waters than he anticipated._'

"Well then, now that we've had our little reunion--" Junzou turned to Sumire with a glare that shouted, 'come with me' as clearly as if he'd snarled the command aloud. "Don't go anywhere Battousai…" It was a joke of course; if I could have left I would have done so long ago. "...we've only just began to get to know each other." He walked away without looking back, his shadow fading seamlessly into the disappearing sunlight. The breeze that swept in though the open window smelled vaguely of _sakura_ blossoms, and the discordant mingling of the flowers' sweet perfume and the lingering scent of blood filled the air and inundated my senses

My head fell back limply against the floor as the footsteps retreated, and I listened to my gasping breath with clinical detachment. Blurred by drug-induced lethargy, time passed in fragmented incidents, broken shards of reality imprinted vividly on my mind. Weak sunlight fell upon my eyelids, but I had no memory of whether it was morning or evening. And although I mouthed words of hope and encouragement soundlessly to myself in the semi-darkness, one can only survive so long on intangible promises of salvation.

- - - - - - - - - -

"They are looking for him. The street fighter and the girl walked together last night, but the boy was alone." His voice floated through the darkness like bubbles up through murky water. The sun had sunk into night, and it hardly mattered whether my eyes were open or closed as the room was smothered by thick shadows. Thick wooden shutters covered the window, and there were no candles to cast warm yellow pools of reassuring light.

"I followed them through half the city, but they weren't coming this direction, so I returned directly." Although he was in the adjacent room, I could almost see Sumire shrug in my mind's eye -- that innocent lifting of the shoulders and slight tilting of the head -- for him, a sure gesture of nervousness.

Cunning and insightful, Junzou was not a man easily fooled, especially by a boy less than half his age. "Are you certain that was all you saw?" There was a slight rustle of fabric as he closed the distance to Sumire, but the tatami were quiet beneath his feet. "There was nothing more?"

Again, I tugged wearily at the binding ropes and rubbed my nose roughly against the futon in an attempt to clean off the encrusted blood. Both endeavors proved futile. How had I allowed myself to be caught in such a situation? What had gone so horribly wrong? I strained my ears, listening for any clue that might reveal our location. Outside, the night was still, and not even the sound of footsteps echoing on a deserted road gave evidence of nearby civilization. I had no doubt that I was still in Tokyo, though. The distinctive smell of the city penetrated the walls and saturated the air. I could taste the city with every breath I took.

"...all right. Go to bed then." Having missed the middle segment of the conversation, I caught the trailing end of Junzou's promise. "Yes, tomorrow you'll have your revenge." A panel was slid aside, then closed again, but I could still hear the shuffling of Sumire's pacing nearby -- Junzou had left him to his thoughts in the adjacent room.

I closed my eyes for what I thought to be just a moment, but when I awoke again to darkness, the boy was at my side. Beside him on the floor burned the short nub of a candle consumed almost down to its base, and the thin flame traced across his pale features and reflected in his eyes.

"You're finally awake..." He sat with legs crossed and eyes trained studiously on his lap. "...do you understand what the daylight will bring for you?" His tone was far from the bold taunts thrown at Yahiko across the polished floor of the Makita Dojo and just as far from the cold words uttered underneath the grey skies by the river's bank only days ago. "He'll stop at nothing--" A brief flicker of... anger, indignation... seeped into his words. But he quickly grew distracted, and his voice faded into nothing more than a whisper "--damn madman."

I couldn't know for sure what the hitokiri had planned, but I'd witnessed enough scenes in Kyoto to satisfy my imagination. I wasn't afraid of torture, or even death for that matter, but I couldn't let him hurt Kaoru, Yahiko, and the others. "Sumire-kun, please, I ask of you--"

"I have no reason to help you." Still with eyes downcast he unsheathed a small dagger and held it before him so that the polished metal caught the dancing candlelight and reflected it into the darkened corners of the room. "You've murdered my father... and countless others." His knuckles were white as he clenched the handle, and his shoulders trembled as he ground his teeth together. "You've no right to be happy while others are suffering..."

But contrary to the cold message of his words, his tone itself spoke not of anger but of sympathy. Every movement, every gesture betrayed his nervousness, and each time he opened his mouth I grew more convinced of the conflict within him -- the infinite tension between light and darkness that haunts us all.

"...you've no right..." he continued to mutter quietly to himself as if he'd forgotten my presence beside him. And as dawn, the gentle herald of the morning, steadily approached through the thinning remnants of night, the solitary candle burning alone on the floor marked the undeniable passage of time. "...and yet--" When he reopened his eyes they shone with redefined clarity and resolution, and with a long exhalation, his distant, haunted expression hardened into one of determination. For a passing moment it seemed as though the father, not the son, was seated before me.

"You don't deserve her love." His back straightened, and he lifted a hand to smooth the wrinkles creased into his gi. "You don't deserve their friendship, their loyalty..." I listened to his rising tirade, biting back retorts as they formed on my tongue. "...why?" His gaze brushed past mine, and for a fleeting moment we stared down into the depths of each other's soul. He turned away, trembling. "Why are you happy, and why is my father dead?"

And as the thin, pale hint of dawn -- that faint pink glimmer that caresses the overarching skies with loving tenderness -- crept through the wooden shutters, tears began to stain his clothes and hands. The dagger fell to the floor and rocked back and forth as he brushed the dampness from his eyes. "Do you even care about the lives you've ruined?" He swallowed hard, his voice cracking with emotion. Hands pressed against the floor, he knelt with his head hanging limply downward between his arms. "Father..."

The soft utterance, half-sob half-plea, settled upon the room like snow falling on snow, blurring but not erasing the deep tracks carved across the landscape of his soul. I began to reach for him then remembered belatedly the ropes that bound me fast.

"Please, Sumire-kun..." I could do nothing to alter the events of the past -- that much I understood and, with reluctance, accepted -- but the present and the future were at mine to direct, mine to change. Repentance means nothing in word alone; one must act and take responsibility for ones actions. I had known this once, had first learned the truth while half-buried in snow with the scent of white-plum fading around me and blood diffusing across the pristine whiteness like ink across parchment. Tree branches bent low underneath the weight of the storm that surrounded me, and somewhere in the tragedy of the moment a weak hint of light emerged. Over the long years it had been buried away under layer upon layer of guilt and regret until it had all but been forgotten, but in a small room somewhere in Tokyo, it found rebirth in the breaking of dawn. "...please."

I don't remember exactly how the events unfolded, but the ropes fell away in pieces upon the futon as he stood over me, knife in hand. The hesitancy in his movements had been replaced by assurance, the nervousness in his stance replaced by resolution.

" Can you stand?" Belatedly he offered me his hand as I struggled to my feet. Although my movements were clumsy from the lingering effects of Junzou's drug, and my head ached from dehydration, it felt good to be vertical again. He watched impassively as I spit into my hand and wiped the blood from my eyes and cheek.

"Where are we?" Rolling my shoulders back to ease the stiffness, I winced at the stab of pain from stitches torn in the previous day's skirmish. Besides the re-aggravated injury to my left shoulder, I appeared to be all in one piece, bruised but thankfully intact.

He said nothing in reply but swept the shutters aside, and light streamed in through the open window and pooled on the floor. Down in the streets below dust rose from the empty road, only to settle again without sound or ceremony. The stillness reminded me of the early mornings I had spent deep in the countryside without a village or farmhouse for miles around -- only the clear sky above my head and the damp grass beneath my feet. "We should go soon..."

He was surprised by the plural pronoun, although the only evidence of his reaction was the slight twitching of fingers hanging limply at his sides. He had meant to stay, had resolved himself to death by Junzou's hand, but my conscience wouldn't allow me to leave him behind -- to do so would have been the same as taking the dagger from his hand and slitting his throat myself.

But he shook his head and pointed to the far corner of the room where the sakabatou rested against the wall. "Just leave... go," he whispered flatly, refusing to meet my gaze. His muscles tensed when I didn't move, and his cheeks flushed red as he lifted his head toward mine. "Why are you still here?" There was a sharp edge to the deliverance of the question, and his eyes narrowed in renewed annoyance.

"Come with me. I promise to protect you..." I winced mentally as soon as the words left my mouth. The last thing he probably wanted was protection -- especially from his father's murderer, of all ironic possibilities. But despite the tactlessness of the invitation, he did come, slowly, hesitantly, step-by-step. His expression was one of anger and mistrust, but his feet moved, and before he could bolt I reached out and touched his arm.

Muscles tensed beneath rough cloth, and together we froze, a tableau washed in sunlight. I could hardly guess what thoughts were spinning through his mind, but he clearly sensed the same thing I did. There was no mistaking the approaching ki. It was he -- the master of the house, the man holding the keys and guarding the door. He took in the scene with a long, sweeping gaze and said nothing, just stood in the doorway. Junzou, hitokiri of the Meiji Era, smiled in satisfaction. Everyone, everything was in place.

end of part 10

* * *

This has taken my quite a while to write, and I wasn't exactly certain how  
to describe the transition within Sumire... until I actually sat down and  
wrote it . I didn't want to be melodramatic, but I wanted to make the  
point that this chapter brings about at least partial resolution to the  
conflict that has been tearing him apart inside. You see, he's really a decent  
person at heart -- who has been though some really tough times. Oh, and  
about the ending to this chapter... well, I haven't had a good cliffhanger  
for quite some time, so I thought... ducks --Mir (04.12.2002)

Note 2: Actually, very few changes in the revision of this chapter. I was  
definitely a better writer in 2002 than I am now. How depressing. I've  
almost finished the first new chapter but am still contemplating how to  
weave Kaoru, Sano, Yahiko, and Saito back into the timeline...  
-- Mir (08.04.2008)


	14. Part 11

title: Hanafubuki | Part 11  
rating: pg-13  
author: Mir  
email: mir@despammed.com  
website: http://tfme.net/tfme/  
  
disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin was created by Watsuki Nobuhiro,   
published by Shueisha in "Jump," and produced by Sony   
Entertainment, Media Blasers, ADV, etc. This story contains   
spoilers for...I'm not quite sure what...up until the Kyoto Arc   
and the OAV's, I think (plus corresponding manga volumes).  
Many thanks to maigo-chan for her manga translations.   
  
AN: It's certainly been an eternity since I've worked on this piece,   
and after an extended amount of deliberation, I've decided to go with   
the more immediate ending and then perhaps work on a sequel later.   
It's about time I wrapped up this plot and tied up my loose ends. I'm   
sorry for the delay. Life has been busy, okay?  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
Another morning  
Sunlight falling on amber  
Tumbling from our minds.  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
  
*Part 11*  
  
  
"Himura-san, I see you're up and about." His tone was calm,   
civil, as though we were old friends gathering for a reunion over warm   
cups of tea. "How fortunate it is that I returned early --" He   
stepped forward into the room, casually reaching back to slide the door   
closed behind him. "-- we might have missed each other entirely, and   
wouldn't have done at all." I followed his movements warily, searching   
for any indication that would warn me of an attack; he wore his swords   
at his side.  
  
"Don't be fooled. He feigns innocence, but he's had   
everything planned since the moment he first attacked you. He predicts   
events like you predict movement…." Sumire strode forward from my   
touch to stand on his own before Junzou. "You've used and manipulated   
me for your own twisted goals -- I release you from your contract.   
Your word means nothing to me anymore." His tone, forceful at first,   
faded as he spoke until his last words were barely more than a whisper.  
  
And there was more to the exchange than the mere transfer of   
words. Seeds of self-confidence and pride had once again taken root in   
Sumire's soul where fear and emptiness had previously held control.   
"In the memory of my father..." But I was worried that he might try   
something rash. After all, he was still a boy and only armed with a   
short dagger. "...I should kill you. Your actions do nothing but   
dishonor him."  
  
He charged forward before I could stop him. Blade in hand, he   
threw himself recklessly at the hitokiri -- only to be ruthlessly   
knocked aside. He crumbled to the floor as the dagger fell harmlessly   
beside him. "Ungrateful brat. You wouldn't involve yourself if you   
know what was good for you." Having thus dealt with the boy, Junzou   
then turned toward me, and the wind, in response to his ki, ruffled   
through his hair and clothes. Outside, the morning sun was gaining   
strength in the sky, and early travelers began to pass up and down the   
street. "I won't allow you to leave." He tightened his grip on his   
long sword. "No one comes and goes here except myself."  
  
He wanted me to fight him, wanted me to take up my sword not   
in self-defense but to initiate an attack. "And Sumire?" I retorted,   
not moving one step toward where the sakabatou rested against the wall.   
There's more than one way to play every game.  
  
"The brat can burn in Hell for all I care." He glared   
menacingly at me as if annoyed that I'd try to put off the inevitable   
by engaging him in dialogue. In fact, the thought hadn't even crossed   
my mind. "It's a perfect place to continue your little reunion." He   
was testing the air, testing my mood as any swordsman might against an   
unknown opponent. Despite everything, he was still cautious.  
  
"I think I'll decline the invitation." He had counted on my   
being armed, had left the sakabatou in the room for this very purpose,   
and although he gave no outward indication of agitation, it was written   
clearly in his inaction. But I knew it wouldn't last; there's no   
excitement in a game without a winner. "And I think I'll be going   
now." I remained rooted in place, eyes never leaving his. "Sumire?"  
  
On the floor, the boy gathered his legs beneath him, but as   
he knelt with his hands spread beneath his bent head, his arms trembled   
slightly, and I could almost hear the rapid beating of his heart in the   
silent room. He wanted me to distract Junzou, to hold his attention   
while he finally achieved his father's revenge… against the hitokiri.   
It was ironic how quickly the definition of "villain" had changed in   
his mind.  
  
"Neither you nor the boy is leaving here alive." It was   
clear that he didn't get out much, didn't socialize or even read much   
for that matter, because his words were all the same, all clichéd   
repetitions of the same obvious refrain. Perhaps he was a genius at   
seeing into peoples' deepest fears. Perhaps he was even halfway decent   
with his sword. But I didn't see how he'd managed to survive the   
Bakumatsu, for when it came to thinking quickly on the spot, he sounded   
about as intelligent as a bottom-feeding carp.   
  
I had no plan in my mind, but I wanted to get Sumire beside   
me, half to ensure his safety, half to keep him from doing anything   
stupid. But before I could stop him, it was too late, and he was on   
his feet again, lunging for the sakabatou across the room. He closed   
his hands around the hilt as Junzou flew toward him, and the loud clang   
of sheath and blade connecting rang through the air. They remained   
frozen for a moment, two silhouettes in the morning light streaming   
through the window, then the smaller figure pushed forward, and the   
larger of the two was forced to step back.   
  
Feet rooted to the floor, I was torn between interfering and   
letting the events run their course. Was it right to deny Sumire his   
chance for retribution? But would I be able to intervene before anyone   
was hurt? As usually happens, the choice was made for me.   
  
"I warned you once, you idiot." The hitokiri snapped his   
blade forward, overpowering his opponent with pure strength alone, and   
Sumire, as he sidestepped away from the long diagonal cut, fell   
backwards, the sakabatou slipping from his grip as he rolled out of the   
way. Junzou pivoted smoothly, clearly expecting to finish the boy off   
with his next stroke, and before I could think about what I was doing I   
was between them, sakabatou in my hands, hesitation forgotten.  
  
The impact of the blow reverberated down the blade and tore   
through my shoulder as I stood before the taller man, anger flaring.   
What had I expected of the two men? That they would play nicely and   
then go home for tea? I almost smiled at the thought. 'Perhaps I'm   
growing senile in these days of peace. If Katsura saw me, he'd   
probably laugh.' Inside me, a deeper feeling rose, one that had lain   
dormant for many years, smoldering like a fire banked for the darkness   
of night.  
  
"No, I won't let you." With every breath, the walls pulsed   
in time with my heartbeat, and even as I shoved him away from Sumire's   
fallen form, he laughed, for he had maneuvered me exactly where he   
wanted me in the first place.  
  
"He's just a nuisance, Battousai. It's only you I'm   
interested in," he hissed, shifting back toward the window as he spoke,   
and his ki slammed into me like a tidal wave crashing onto shore.   
Behind him, the sun was gradually creeping across the sky, and I was   
forced to squint into the bright glare, half-blinded by the light. I   
moved a moment before he struck, deflecting his sword and stepping to   
the side. Step, pivot, attack. Somehow he brought his blade up to   
meet mine in time, and we stared at each other in silence, the only   
sound the lingering ringing of crashing metal in my ears. I pushed   
diagonally against his stance to throw him off-balance, but my shoulder   
complained in protect, and so warily I pulled away.  
  
I could hear his taunts before they left his mouth, and I   
ignored them as they washed over me like a waterfall over a cliff. The   
room and its distractions faded into insignificance, and the coppery   
scent of blood seeped up from the floor and permeated my senses.   
"You'll let us pass," growled a voice, not quite my own even though the   
sounds issued clearly from my lips. My hands, working on their own   
accord, shoved the blade back into its sheath, and I paused,   
battoujistsu stane, body angled halfway between my opponent and the   
door.  
  
"And why should I?" He was clearly enjoying the moment,   
milking it for all it was worth. He stood waiting, wanting me to   
attack him, and although my mind screamed in protest, my body was only   
too happy to oblige. "Already tired of my hospitality already?"   
  
And answering with my sword, I sprung forward, drawing the   
blade as I closed the distance between us in less time than it takes a   
man to exhale. The steel arched toward his neck as he smiled, ducking   
to the side and raising his blade against mine. Even as the sakabatou   
slid hard across his shoulder, he still grinned, not even wincing under   
the blow. We both, in the same instant, turned and attacked, the only   
evidence of our movements the grooves left in the soft tatami beneath   
our feet.  
  
"Stop! Both of you! You shouldn't do this." The voice cut   
through the room with a suddenness that caught us both by surprise.   
That boy. I'd forgotten he was still around. Why hadn't he run when   
he had the chance? "You shouldn't spill each others' blood here."   
There was an edge of panic to his voice – as if he'd unwittingly set a   
course of events in motion and was terrified at where they were heading.  
  
"Be quiet. You've no idea what you're talking about." I   
don't know which of us spoke, but it hardly mattered. He stared back,   
eyes suddenly dark and narrow, lips pressed together, and hands   
clenching and unclenching at his sides. Junzou was breathing heavily   
about two meters to my right, sword held ready before him. But   
although his body struggled to keep pace, I could sense his mind   
springing forward once again, ever-plotting how to think his way out of   
situations. That was how he had survived, not by skill but by wit.  
  
"There's no reason to take each others' lives here…." His   
newfound confidence wavered, and his shoulders trembled slightly   
beneath his gi. What right did he have to pretend to take the high and   
righteous road? A minute ago he'd been all to ready to spill Junzou's   
blood himself. What power did he wield in this odd midmorning dance?   
But even as Junzou rushed forward, even as I twisted sideways between   
boy and man, the words seeped into my mind like water into dry ground.   
  
And in an instant, as our blades crashed together once more   
and the ringing reverberated through my ears, in that instant,   
everything came rushing back, and like waking up suddenly after a long   
night's sleep, I shook myself back into reality. "He's right, you   
know," I whispered, and with the soft utterance adrenaline drained   
away, and the soft haze at the back of my mind pushed intently at my   
thoughts. "There's no reason for us to stay here."  
  
His approach seemed unnaturally slow as I resheathed the   
sakabatou and paused, hand hovering just barely above the hilt. It was   
the same stance as before, but at the same time it was different, and   
my hand shook not from anger but from fatigue. There was no contest of   
speed between us, or if there was, there was no question as to who the   
winner would be. I heard him collapse onto the floor beside me, and   
mentally I breathed a giant sigh of relief. Now all we had to do was   
return home.  
  
"You can't win, Battousai, no matter how hard you try." His   
voice was a hoarse whisper, but it was still as firm and confident as   
ever. What other tricks did he have up his sleeve? I pivoted sharply,   
instantly reminded that one should never turn one's back on a fallen   
opponent. "No matter what you do, you can't protect him." And with a   
flick of his wrist, he tossed something at Sumire. It wasn't until it   
rolled to a stop at his feet that I realized what it was.   
  
"Run!" There wasn't time, I knew, and even as the words left   
my mouth, the small bomb exploded in a shower of sparks and a cloud of   
smoke. Squinting and coughing, I ran forward, ignoring the patches of   
smoldering tatami around me. "Sumire?" There was a black hole of   
about a meter in diameter in the floor, and the ground was littered   
with jagged bits of wood. And by some miracle, as I peered downward   
with a sinking heart, he responded.  
  
"I'm down here. I'm okay…." I needed no further invitation.   
With one last glare at Junzou, I pushed myself through the hole and   
hoped with all my heart that I'd never have to see this place again.  
  
  
*end of part 11*   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
So what are Kaoru and the others doing, you ask? Um, I was wondering   
that myself... it's okay. We'll all find out together in the next part   
(which I certainly hope to finish in a shorter amount of time than it   
took to get this one out!). Winter fan fiction contest at TFME... Fun.  
  
- Mir (12.11.02)  
. 


End file.
